WHY  AND  WHAT  AM  I  ? 


THE 


0f  an  |namnr 


IN     THREE    PARTS. 


PART    I. 
HEAR  T-E  XPERIENCE; 

OR,     THE 

EDUCATION  OF  THE  EMOTIONS. 


BY 


JAMES    JACKSON    JARVES, 

AUTHOR    OP    "ART-HINTS,"    "ITALIAN    SIGHTS,"    "  KIANA,"    ETC. 


BOSTON: 
PHILLIPS,   SAMPSON   AND    COMPANY. 

LONDON  :   SAMPSON  LOW,  SON  A  CO. 
M  DCCC  LVII. 


Entered  according  to  Actfof  Congress,  in  the  year  1857,  by 

PIJILLIPS,  SAMPSON  &  CO., 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


Stereotyped    by 
HOBART    &    ROBBIN3, 


0  'Sri* 


A   PREFACE, 

IN  WHICH  IS  INCLUDED  THE  DEDICATION. 


WHY  write  a  Preface?  Any  one  who  cares  for  your 
thought  will  seek  to  unravel  it  in  your  pages. 

That  is  true ;  but  the  critics,  to  whom  I  dedicate  all  my 
Confessions  that  they  will  engage  to  criticize,  seldom  are  able 
to  look  beyond  the  title-page  and  contents;  so  I  must  do 
something  for  them,  to  avoid  being  altogether  thrown  over 
board.  Criticism,  as  commonly  conducted,  is  rarely  aught 
else  than  a  literary  guide-board.  It  tells  you  where  to  go, 
but  not  much  of  your  destination.  I  would  fain  wish  it 
might  do  more  for  me ;  but  my  literary  illusions  have  long 
since  sunk  to  their  final  rest,  and  long  ago  I  bade  good-by 
to  expectation  and  disappointment.  Still,  as  it  may  gain, 
for  me  some  readers,  and  for  you,  general  reader,  some  pages 
of  eccentric  reading,  I  bow  to  its  usefulness,  and  tell  you  all, 
in  the  words  of  Pilate, 

"  What  I  have  written,  I  have  written." 


IV  PREFACE. 

If  you  like  it,  and  perhaps  if  you  do  not,  there  may  follow 
two  portions  more  :  one,  an 

ART-CONFESSION; 

OR, 

®|j*  feprmtu  0f  gf  static  Cnlto  in  f  ife. 

The  other, 

THE    RELIGIOUS    IDEA; 

OK, 

f fet  fink  $*ttowi  %  f  rmnt  anfc  Jftttot. 

Your  humble  servant,  at  command, 

THE  CONFESSOR. 

N.  B.  —  One  chapter  weekly  is  a  sufficient  dose  —  for  an 
inquisitive  thinker.  Any  other  reader  had  better  let  the 
"  Confessions  "  remain  undisturbed,  and  be  grateful  to  me  for 
this  caution. 


CONTENTS. 


PAG  8 

SALUTATORY, 9 

CHAPTER    I. 

WHY    I   WAS   EXILED    TO   EARTH, H 

CHAPTER    II. 

HOW   I   WAS   BORN, jg 

CHAPTER    III. 

FATHER  —  MOTHER, 22 

CHAPTER    IV. 

BABY   MORALES   AND   NAME, 28 

CHAPTER    V. 

MY   FIRST   LESSON   IN    SALVATION, 34 

CHAPTER    VI. 

ITS   ANTIDOTE, 44 

CHAPTER    VII. 

ILLUSIONS,    AND   A   NEW   RELATION, 54 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

PETRONIA'S  FORLORN  HOPE, 61 

1* 


VI  CONTENTS.' 

CHAPTER    IX. 

PAOB 
IN   THE   COUNTRY,    THANK    GOD  ! 67 

CHAPTER    X. 
A  SPORTSMAN'S  —  i  MEAN  BOY'S  —  LOGIC, 77 

CHAPTER    XI. 

DESPONDENCY,  FRIENDSHIP,  FUN,  AND  DEATH,   ....   83 

CHAPTER    XII. 

GHOSTS,    AND  A   CHANGE   OF   HEART   THAT  WOULD  N'T  COME,      92 

CHAPTER    XIII. 

I   FIGHT    FOR   A    MORAL   CHARACTER, 100 

CHAPTER    XIV. 

IDIOSYNCRASIES   AND   THEIR    CONSEQUENCES, 109 

CHAPTER    XV. 

END  OF  ONE  EDUCATION,    AND  THE   BEGINNING  OF  ANOTHER,     117 

CHAPTER    XVI. 

WHAT   IS   ME,    AND   WHAT   IS   NOT    ME? 123 

CHAPTER    XVII. 

YOUTH  NOT  A  DEVIL;  A  HUMAN  CACTUS, 129 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 

A    SELF-IMPOSED   FRIEND, 141 

CHAPTER    XIX. 

A   NEW    FIELD, 151 

C  II  A  P  T  E  K     X  X  . 

PETRONIA    AS    MTSSIONAUY,  166 


CONTENTS.  VII 

CHAPTER    XXI. 

PAGH 

DOES   CHRISTIANITY   AGREE    WITH   POLYNESIA?       .      .      .      .173 

CHAPTER    XXII. 
MY  "BUSINESS"  SUCCESS, .  196 

CHAPTER    XXIII. 

SKIP   THIS 'TIS   TOO   DRY, 203 

CHAPTER    XXIV. 

DRIER   STILL OH  ! 209 

CHAPTER    XXV. 

A    NOTE   ON   A   MINOR   KEY, 217 

CHAPTER    XXVI. 

TWO   MOURNERS, 222 

CHAPTER    XXVII. 

LOVES   FLIES   OFF, >     ....  227 

CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

MORE   WEAKNESSES,    AND   MORE  MORALIZING, 235 

CHAPTER   XXIX. 

MARRIED,    AT   LAST,    BUT   NOT    MY   WEDDING, 248 

CHAPTER    XXX. 

A   SURPRISE   TO   TWO, 258 

CHAPTER    XXXI. 

THE   RESULT, 267 


VTTT  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    XXXII. 

PAGB 
A   UNION   THAT  IS   NOT   A    UNION, 271 

CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

MY  THEORY    OF    MY   HEART'S   IDEAL, 282 

CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

I   FIND   MY   IDEAL,   AT   LAST IN   PROSPECTIVE,  ....  286 

CHAPTER    XXXV. 

VALEDICTORY A   VISION?      ,  .      .  291 


A    CODICIL. 
THE  DOCTRINE  AND  LESSON  OF  LIFE. 

PART     I. INSTINCT,    WILL,    LOVE, 299 

PART  II. MARRIAGE,    DIVORCE,    REFORM, 304 


SALUTATORY. 


ALLOW  me  to  present  to  you  my  confessions,  dear 
reader.  I  trust  that,  by  the  time  you  have  read  thus 
far,  they  will  have  become  your  confessions. 

This  may  prove  true  in  a  double  sense.  First,  by 
an  exchange  of  coin  from  your  pocket  into  mine  — 
a  delicate  flattery  which  has  a  wonderfully  soothing 
effect  upon  an  author's  nervous  system.  If  you 
doubt  my  word,  it  is  an  experiment  well  worth  your 
trial,  and  warranted  to  succeed  upon  the  most  obtuse 
literary  organizations,  after  the  seqond  or  third 
attempt. 

Secondly,  in  the  light  of  a  mirror. 

Far  be  it  from  me  to  cast  any  reflection  upon  you, 
dearest  reader  ;  but,  as  all  lives  have  been  dipped  in 
the  same  river  of  humanity,  though  for  that  they  do 
not  all,  Achilles-like,  cease  to  be  vulnerable,  I  cor 
dially  recommend  you  to  the  perusal  of  these  con 
fessions,  if  for  no  other  reason  than  to  detect  the 
common  likeness,  and  to  laugh  or  marvel,  as  may  be 
your  mood,  over  the  differences  we  each  have  had 
on  the  great  highway  of  LIFE. 

I  promise  you  one  novelty,  in  the  outset.     It  is 


10  SALUTATORY. 

this.  My  confessions  commence  at  a  period  when 
yours  were  buried  in  profound  sleep. 

"  How  so  ?  " 

Listen. 

You,  I  dare  say,  forgetful  reader,  cannot  go  back, 
in  the  traditions  of  the  nursery,  to  a  date  anteceding 
the  first  tooth  :  a  prodigious  memory  must  you 
have,  if  you  can  recall  even  that  stupendous  fact. 
But  I  recall  — 

"  t  Recall '  what?  Heavens  !  you  don't  mean  to 
say  that  —  " 

Be  patient,  and  the  story  will  tell  its  own  tale.  I 
recall  an  IDEA  — 

il  If  that  be  all,  you  had  better  stop  our  confes 
sions  where  they  are.  We  have  all  had  more  ideas 
than  we  could  manage,  and  — 

Once  again,  courteous  reader.  I  pray  you  not  to 
interrupt  me.  Nothing  so  confuses  an  idea  as  a 
plump  contradiction.  I  am  bent  on  making  our  con 
fessions  ;  and,  if  you  go  on  in  this  way,  I  shall  never 
reach  the  first  breath,  much  less  — 

" '  Much  less  ! '  What  the  deuce  are  you  driving 
at  ?  —  I  crave  pardon  !  This  shall  be  my  last  rude 
ness,  if  my  curiosity  does  not  beget  — 

That  is  just  what  I  am  driving  at.  My  idea 
begot  me. 

"  '  Fudge  ! '     I  mean,  let  us  hear  all  about  it." 

Now  you  are  reasonable,  I  will  begin. 


CHAPTER    I. 

WHY   I  WAS   EXILED   TO   EARTH. 

THE  first,  and,  as  it  so  happens,  the  only  recollec 
tion  allowed  me,  of  the  state  of  existence  to  which 
I  now  refer,  was  of  being  an  infinitesimally  small 
globule,  or  souL-germ.  Unfortunately  or  fortunately, 
as  opinions  may  run,  even  in  that  condition  I  was 
largely  endowed  with  curiosity.  The  existence  of 
a  soul  prior  to  its  advent  as  a  material  being  upon 
some  one  of  the  planets  is,  according  to  the  best 
of  my  remembrance,  one  so  perfectly  passive  that 
few  persons,  perhaps  none,  in  their  after  experience 
can  recall  either  enjoyment  or  suffering  as  connected 
with  their  immaterial  being.  It  is  true  certain  sen 
sations  of  happiness,  or  suggestions  of  the  capacity 
of  our  spirits  for  infinite  progress,  at  times  flash  like 
light  through  our  worldly  thoughts,  connecting  us 
with  an  unseen  but  not  unfelt  sphere  of  perfection. 
These  may  be  the  magnetic  currents  which,  descend 
ing  from  a  nobler  life,  illumine  and  cheer  the  soul 
onward,  rather  than  sparks  from  the  flickering  torch 
of  memory  of  a  prior  existence.  Indeed,  judging 
from  myself,  —  and  in  matters  of  the  soul  we  have 
only  ourself  to  actually  know,  —  I  believe  this  to  be 


12  HEART -EXPERIENCE. 

the  case.  It  is  given  to  me,  however,  to  have  a  dis 
tinct  reminiscence  of  being  an  inquisitive  little  idea, 
pestering  myself  and  others  with  curiosity,  often  to 
the  no  little  disturbance  of  the  celestial  quiescence 
of  my  immediate  circle.  At  last  I  was  voted  a  bore, 
and  the  angel  who  had  me  in  charge,  not  finding  it 
convenient  to  answer  my  questions,  —  in  which  re 
spect  I  have  since  found  many  teachers  like  him  in 
this  world, —  said,  in  a  pet, "  You  are  only  fit  for  the 
earth!  Be  off,  and  cease  to  bother  us!  At  all  events, 
you  will  there  be  taught  manners  and  knowledge." 

This  was  certainly  not  very  civil  in  the  angel ;  but, 
as  angels  are  either  incipient  or  matured  men,  I  for 
get  which,  it  was  a  very  natural  conge,  and  not  illy 
adapted  to  an  introduction  to  my  new  existence.  A 
sudden  obscurity  seized  me.  Memory,  if  I  ever  had 
had  any,  departed.  I  was  conscious  of  nothing  but 
a  peculiar  thrill  or  shock,  resulting,  I  suppose,  from 
my  unexpected  ejection  from  my  old  abode.  If  an 
idea  can  be  said  to  possess  senses,  it  quite  took  away 
mine,  though  for  how  long  I  cannot  tell. 

When  I  became  conscious  at  all,  it  was  to  find 
myself— a  human  being;  that  is,  I,  an  idea,  for  still 
I  clung  to  that,  was  being  confined  into  a  strange- 
looking  form,  with  limbs,  body,  and  head.  The  first 
consciousness  of  my  new  self  was  not  a  compliment 
ary  one.  I  was  a  hideous  molecule,  a  monster,  a 
fright,  an  imp,  anything  but  what  I  have  often  since 
flattered  myself  to  be. 

I  cannot  tell  whether  it  was  that,  frightened  by 
my  own  ugliness,  or  not  liking  the  change  from 
celestial  light  to  sudden  obscurity,  I  kicked  out  most 


WHY   I  WAS   EXILED   TO   EARTH.  13 

lustily;  but  I  did  so,  and  soon  really  enjoyed  the 
novel  exercise.  I  had  already  found  a  use  for  those 
limbs,  the  sight  of  which  at  first  so  puzzled  and 
alarmed  me.  It  was  a  new  experience.  In  compar 
ison  with  my  first  consciousness  it  was  delicious  ;  so 
I  stirred  about  all  I  could. 

Like  most  impromptu  experiments,  mine  in  the 
outset  was  not  a  fortunate  one.  It  made  me  an 
enemy  at  once.  Strange  sounds  reached  my — ears, 
I  should  say,  had  they  been  large  enough;  but  it  was 
my  organization  which  was  sufficiently  acute  to  rec 
ognize  at  once  human  speech,  and  to  comprehend 
directly  some  of  the  dangers  which  already  beset 
me.  In  reflecting  upon  this  fact,  I  believe  my  old 
guardian,  the  angel,  had  been  malicious  enough,  in 
consigning  me  to  the  earth,  to  give  me  a  double  share 
of  sensibility,  in  order  that  my  career  should  be  con 
tinually  the  sport  of  illusions,  as  a  punishment  for 
my  precocious  curiosity.  However  that  was,  I  soon 
found  myself  the  subject  of  an  interesting  discussion. 

"  I  am  sure  of  it  —  I  told  you  so,"  said  the  voice 
nearest  me.  And  a  very  soft,  sweet  voice  it  was. 

"  But,  dear,  you  must  be  mistaken.  Consider,  you 
are  not  yet  done  nursing  little  Benjamin." 

"  Indeed,  I  wish  I  was ;  but  there  is  no  mistaking 
that."  Here  I  gave  a  fresh  kick. 

Something  followed  in  a  gruff,  vexed  tone,  that 

sounded  very  much  like .     I  have  been  since 

told  it  was  a  naughty  word,  and  I  will  not  write  it. 
This  exclamation  was  succeeded,  on  the  other  side, 
by  a  series  of  sighs,  so  deep  that  they  really  excited 
my  pity,  and  of  course  my  curiosity. 
2 


1 4  HEAET-  EXPERIENCE. 

"  But,  my  dear,"  after  a  short  interval  of  silence, 
continued  the  gruff  voice,  "  don't  you  think  you  are 
nervous,  subject  to  fancies,  eh?  Exercise  in  the 
open  air  will  do  you  a  wonderful  deal  of  good. 
What  say  you  to  riding  horseback  ?  You  have  not 
been  up  the  monument  of  late.  At  this  season  the 
view  is  remarkably  fine." 

"How  can  you  talk  so,  husband ?  Do  you  wish 
me  to  —  Here  the  voice  became  a  faint  whisper, 
and  I  lost  the  rest  of  the  sentence. 

"  Not  at  all ;  only,  if  any  accident  should  happen, 
no  harm  would  be  done  now.  How  much  better  it 
would  be  for  little  Benjamin  !  Times  are  hard,  and 
just  enough  for  one  is  only  half  enough  for  two.  I 
do  wish  nature  was  not  so  extraordinarily  prolific. 
It  is  always  my  luck  !  Confound  —  "  Something,  I 
could  not  hear  what ;  but  soon  after  stifled  sobs 
were  heard. 

"  Don't  take  on  so  !  You  know  I  did  not  mean  it, 
Harriet."  Sob,  sob,  kiss,  kiss,  followed  in  quick  suc 
cession,  intermixed  with  much  confused  talking  and 
soothing,  the  upshot  of  which  was  that  I  found  out, 
if  one  half  of  those  in  the  world  wished  for  new-com 
ers,  the  other  half  as  heartily  wished  them  to  remain 
where  they  were,  and  both  came  to  these  opposite 
opinions  professedly  for  the  good  of  the  object  con 
cerned. 

Bad  world,  full  of  trials,  money  tight,  weak  con 
stitution,  too  many  cares  already,  —  so  went  the 
refrain  of  good  riddance  on  the  one  side  ;  sweet 
baby,  life,  joy,  mother's  delight  and  father's  pride, 


WHY   I   WAS   EXILED   TO   EARTH.  15 

roses  and  sunshine, —  so  went  the  song  of  welcome 
on  the  other. 

Now,  all  this  excited  my  curiosity.  I  determined 
to  stay.  There  were,  then,  two  sides  to  earth-life. 
It  was  natural  to  wish  to  know  both  ;  besides,  who 
had  so  much  at  stake  in  this  question  as  myself, 
whose  rights  were  so  overlooked?  As  I  said  before, 
I  concluded  to  stay. 

My  mother  —  for  so  must  I  now  begin  to  call  her 
—  was  persuaded  to  take  for  some  time  more  exer 
cise  than  was  her  custom ;  she  did  go  on  horseback, 
she  did  go  up  the  two  hundred  and  seventy-nine 
steps  of  the  monument,  and  came  down  them  very 
fast,  too.  She  did  walk  much,  and  jump,  and  per 
form  various  antics  somewhat  surprising  for  a  staid 
matron ;  and  she  grew  all  the  stronger  thereupon, 
and  I  clave  to  her  all  the  firmer  therefor,  for  my 
heart  was  drawn  to  her,  and  my  will  was  firm  to 
see  the  world  for  myself.  As  for  my  father,  I  for 
gave  him  in  this,  but  not  till  long  after  I  became  the 
parent  of  several  ideas  very  much  like  —  myself,  so 
it  is  said. 


CHAPTER    II. 

HOW   I   WAS   BORN. 

I  CALL,  as  will  be  seen  in  the  preceding  chapter, 
the  two  persons  with  whom  I  first  became  acquainted 
in  earth-life,  father  and  mother  ;  but  this  is  in  defer 
ence  to  the  world's  sense  of  such  relationship,  which 
being  common  sense,  is,  after  all,  the  most  likely  to  be 
the  right  sense.  I  shall  continue  to  use  the  worldly 
language  when  I  wish  to  be  particularly  intelligible. 
If,  dear  reader,  you  ever  find  me  somewhat  obscure, 
conclude  that  my  idea-origin  is  getting  the  better 
of  my  earth-knowledge,  and  leading  me  to  idealize. 
If  you  have  no  sympathy  for  this  frame  of  mind, 
pass  it  over,  and  stick  to  what  you  do  understand. 
In  the  progressive  order  of  things,  you  may  your 
self,  by  begetting  an  idea,  be  awakened  to  your  own 
origin  as  one.  It  is  not  every  one,  like  myself,  who 
can  trace  his  ancestry  through  flesh  up  to  a  bright 
idea.  For  I  do  maintain  that  mine  was  a  bright  one, 
otherwise  I  should  not  have  been  so  summarily 
exiled  from  a  state  of  humdrum  happiness,  in  which 
my  curiosity  annoyed  myself  as  much  as  it  did  my 
neighbors. 

Adam   and   Eve   have   the    credit   of  being  the 


HOW   I   WAS   BORN.  17 

parents  of  mankind.  This  opinion  does  not  give  to 
each  their  just  due.  They  were  at  first  simply  two 
passive  ideas,  planted  in  a  paradise,  where  they  had 
nothing  to  do  but  to  pluck  and  eat.  Now,  Eve  had 
too  much  pluck  to  be  content  with  a  vegetable  life  j 
and  curiosity,  which  is  the  divine  spark  that  fires 
progress,  led  her  to  experiment  as  to  her  own  pow 
ers.  The  excitement  she  created  speedily  convinced 
her  she  was  somebody,  and  entitled  to  have  her  say 
in  creation,  —  a  right  which  her  sex  maintain  in  full 
force  to  this  day.  Adam  played  but  a  sorry  figure, 
it  mortifies  mo  to  confess,  in  this  business.  He 
wanted  the  fun,  but  sneaked  and  blamed  Eve  as  soon 
as  he  found  out  that  knowledge  was  labor.  Eve 
behaved  like  a  true  woman, —  God  bless  her  !  —  and, 
for  one,  believing  her  merits  have  never  been  rightly 
appreciated,  I  do  offer  to  receive  subscriptions  from 
men  everywhere  to  erect  to  her  a  suitable  monu 
ment,  and,  as  is  her  due,  larger  and  finer  than  the 
contemplated  one  to  the  Pilgrim  Fathers,  on  which 
shall  be  inscribed,  in  grateful  letters,  the  thanks  of 
the  world  for  her  courageous  example  in  preferring 
to  be  a  woman  to  remaining  an  idea.  Adam  and  his 
sons  shall  appear  only  on  the  base,  in  their  true  posi 
tions  and  conditions  as  caryatides.  As  for  the  serpent, 
it  must  have  an  honorable  place,  for  suggesting  and 
encouraging  Eve  to  free  herself,  and  of  course  our 
selves,  from  an  existence  that  had  neither  right  nor 
wrong  to  enliven  it.  The  strange  medley  of  bad 
and  good,  pain  and  pleasure,  art  and  science,  which 
we  call  civilization,  is  due  to  the  courage  and  curi 
osity  of  a  woman.  She  led  the  way  to  progress  — 
2* 


1 8  HEART  -  EXPERIENCE. 

man  but  labors  to  perfect  her  suggestion.  There 
fore,  sons  of  men,  if  ye  love  enterprise,  industry, 
physical  growth,  and  moral  strength,  have  done  with 
your  whine  and  cant  about  the  loss  of  an  inglorious 
paradise,  and  honor  the  woman  who  first  showed 
you  how  to  be  men  ! 

For  my  part,  I  am  determined  to  do  the  sex  that 
favors  the  human  race  with  an  introduction  into  this 
earth,  justice.  I  consider  it,  upon  reflection,  a  good 
thing  to  be  born.  I  have  a  liking  for  the  way  nature 
has  provided,  and  I  am  not  too  modest  to  tell  you 
why.  Not  that  there  is  one  particle  of  merit  in 
being  a  father  or  mother,  any  more  than  there  is  in 
being  a  child.  On  the  contrary,  virtue  often  decides 
otherwise.  I  have  noticed  that  it  is  rare  for  any  but 
poor  people  to  wish  to  have  children,  and  that  their 
numbers  are  in  direct  ratio  to  the  poverty  and  ugli 
ness  of  the  parents.  The  rich  and  beautiful  seldom 
have  time  or  inclination.  But  nature  does  not  con 
sult  the  wishes  of  any  individual.  She  begets  or 
refrains,  according  to  her  'own  immutable  rules.  We 
owe,  therefore,  our  advent  upon  earth,  not  to  the 
virtues  of  human  ancestry,  but  to  the  laws  which 
regulate  the  connection  between  the  seen  and 
unseen. 

It  will  be  seen  in  my  case  that  I  was  not  wanted 
either  as  an  idea  or  as  a  baby.  Not  being  welcome 
to  stay  or  come,  I  owe  no  gratitude  on  either  side. 
Such  curiosity  as  mine  could  find  no  suitable  sphere 
where  questions  were  not  allowed  to  be  asked;  so  I 
seized  the  first  chance  that  offered,  —  or  nature  did 


HOW   I   WAS   BOKN.  19 

for  me,  and  sent  me  to  earth  to  learn  "  knowledge 
and  manners." 

Now,  my  mother,  after  she  became  satisfied  that 
I  was  determined  to  be  born,  ceased  very  violent 
exercises,  —  the  only  effect  of  which  on  me  was,  as  it 
since  proved,  to  give  me  an  insatiable  love  of  trav 
elling, —  and  gradually  became  even  delighted  at 
her  prospect.  There  was  soon  established  between 
us  a  rare  sympathy.  My  curiosity  begot  in  her  a 
corresponding  love  of  knowledge.  She  read  trav 
els,  histories,  works  of  philosophy,  fiction,  and  even 
theology,  besides  being  more  assiduous  than  ever 
before  in  her  Bible  reading  and  devotions.  Her 
appetite  in  this  was  two-fold  —  for  herself  and  me. 
She  loved  instruction  for  its  own  sake,  and  in  her 
present  situation  it  seemed  to  her,  what  was  really 
the  case,  that  her  own  mind  could  not  expand  with 
truth  without  expanding  mine.  How  she  could  best 
welcome  the  little  stranger,  as  she  termed  me,  was 
her  hourly  thought.  She  asked  God  (laily  to  bless 
me.  He  blessed  us  both.  Me,  in  preparing  my  soul 
to  believe  kindly  of  the  earth,  in  providing  maternal 
instruction  and  care,  in  giving  me  an  unfailing  source 
of  healthful  development,  and  above  all  in  supplying 
to  my  heart  currents  of  love  from  another  that  over 
flowed  with  its  richest  treasures.  Thus  it  happened 
that  I  was  thankful  I  was  to  be  born  of  a  woman. 

While  I  was  the  object  of  so  much  solicitude  to 
her,  another  conversation  ensued  with  the  gruff 
voice,  only  this  time  it  was  not  so  very  gruff. 

I  first  heard  the  low,  musical  tones  of  my  mother. 
She  often  sang,  now,  as  if  to  herself;  but  her  sooth- 


20  HEART- EXPERIENCE. 

ing  notes  were  the  overflowings  of  a  contented, 
joyful  spirit,  and  really  intended  for  me.  She  had 
been  singing,  and  father  was  sitting  near,  lulled  into 
tranquil  repose,  in  spite  of  his  Malthusian  fears. 

"  You  seem  very  happy  now,  Harriet/7  said  he ; 
"you  have  ceased  to  regret  — 

"  Hush  !  "  said  my  mother ;  "  never  allude  to  my 
foolish  fears  again.  I  would  not  exchange  the  calm 
pleasure  I  now  feel,  with  the  consciousness  of  lov 
ing  and  being  beloved  by  innocence,  of  feeding  its 
mind  and  feeling  its  growth,"-  — all  babies  recol 
lect,  please,  are  "  its  "  for  months  before  and  after 
their  first  breath,  —  "for  all  the  excitements  of 
sense  or  vanity  the  most  successful  selfishness  could 
pile  about  me.  No,  no  !  nature,  in  permitting  us 
females  to  become  mothers,  gives  us  joys  that  could 
reach  our  souls  in  no  other  way.  I  am  content ; 
nay,  more,  I  am  very  happy." 

My  father  smiled  and  kissed  her  cheek,  but  looked 
dubious,  as  if  he  did  not  half  comprehend  all  this. 
But  Harriet  was  happy ;  and  so  from  sympathy  was 
Kobert,  for  the  instant,  My  own  little  heart  thrilled 
at  her  words,  and  gave  me  an  emotion  of  indescrib 
able  tenderness  towards  her. 

This  part  of  my  existence  was  so  satisfactory  that 
I  like  to  dwell  upon  it.  However,  the  time  came  in 
which  I  had  to  eat  and  drink  and  breathe  for  myself; 
in  short,  to  be  an  individual,  entitled,  on  my  own  re 
sponsibility,  to  all  the  penalties  and  pleasures  of  life. 

For  my  mother,  of  good  constitution,  correct 
habits,  without  the  fears  or  anxieties  which  so  often 
prostrate  her  sex  at  this  crisis,  it  was  an  easy  affair. 


HOW   I   WAS   BORN.  21 

A  woman  wise  in  these  matters  was  in  attendance. 
She  rightly  preferred  her  own  sex  to  male  assist 
ance.  A  few  pangs,  and  I  was  born  —  the  idea  was 
now  shaped  into  a  baby  ;  "  a  little  angel,  so  like  its 
mother,  such  sweet  eyes,  a  perfect  love !"  So  said,  in 
her  presence,  an  ill-favored  maiden  aunt.  "  Another 
squalling,  red-nosed  brat,  and  so  soon  after  the  last ; 
it  is  shameful ! "  I  could  read  in  her  heart,  as  she 
thought  of  her  diminished  chances  at  a  certain  re 
version  of  property  in  prospect.  My  father  gently 
patted  my  cheek,  and  his  eye  moistened  as  he  looked 
at  his  wife,  exhausted  yet  so  happy.  I  loved  him 
then. 


CHAPTER   III. 

FATHER  AND   MOTHER. 

"  WAS  '  it '  a  boy  ?  "  "  Was  'it '  a  girl  ?  " — "  Does 
an  idea  have  sex?"  I  was  about  to  reply,  quite  for 
getting  that  I  was  now  a  baby ;  and,  even  if  I  had 
not  arrived  at  that  stage  of  progress,  there  are  both 
masculine  and  feminine  ideas,  as  different  from  each 
other  as  chalk  is  from  cheese. 

Candidly  speaking,  at  this  age  I  had  no  distinct 
impression  upon  the  subject.  On  that  account,  I 
think  it  will  be  better  for  the  fact  which  you,  young 
miss,  and  you,  venerable  miss,  are  so  curious  to 
know,  to  be  developed  gradually  in  the  course  of  the 
narrative.  Some  things  improve  by  keeping ;  and 
among  the  chips  of  worldly  wisdom  with  which  I 
have  filled  my  basket,  I  find  secrets  are  of  the  num 
ber.  Do  not  be  over-anxious  on  this  point.  The 
mystery  cannot  endure  longer  than  the  short  clothes. 
I  assure  you,  upon  my  honor,  before  they  were  put 
on  I  never  gave  a  token  either  that  I  was  not  a  boy 
or  not  a  girl.  I  was  simply  a  baby  ;  known  as  "  it " 
to  my  father  and  all  indifferent  persons,  but  to  my 
mother  nothing  less  loving  than  "  my  precious  dar 
ling,"  "mamma's  pet  of  pets,"  "lambkin,"  and  a  host 


FATHER   AM)   MOTHER.  23 

of  epithets  freshly  coined  of  her  heart  each  hour, 
as  she  alternately  tossed  me  in  the  air,  or  hugged 
me  to  her  bosom. 

As  at  present  I  am  simply  a  baby  writing  for  the 
instruction  of  parents,  those  who  are  neither  can,  if 
they  see  fit,  skip  what  immediately  follows,  as  of 
interest  only  to  the  parties  concerned.  But,  with  all 
due  respect  to  the  agencies  appointed  by  Provi 
dence  to  launch  infants  on  the  sea  of  life,  I  wish  to 
record  here  a  few  thoughts  suggested  by  my  expe 
rience,  which  may  benefit  any  expected  "  increase 
of  family." 

My  brother,  Benjamin,  soon  after  I  came,  took  his 
leave  of  earth,  forwarded  heavenward  by  a  croup- 
express.  His  was  a  sluggish,  indolent  temperament, 
quite  unfitted  to  resist  or  impress  itself  upon  the 
world.  If  he  had  remained,  I  could  have  loved  him 
only  as  a  fellow-being,  for  nature  had  given  us  but 
little  in  common  except  our  parents.  Seeing  his 
inability  to  withstand  the  conflicting  elements  of 
this  life,  she  wisely  and  kindly  took  him  to  a  more 
congenial  sphere.  Being  the  first-born  child,  my 
father  mourned  or  rather  missed  him  for  a  while,  but 
in  silence ;  my  mother  wept  plenteously,  and  then 
comforted  herself  the  more  in  me. 

How  we  grew  to  love  each  other !  I  speak  warm 
ly  on  this  topic,  because  family  love  is  the  founda 
tion  of  our  purest  happiness.  The  parent  is  the 
Providence  of  the  child— the  agent  through  whom 
God  exercises  his  care;  and  for  a  considerable  period 
is  the  only  God,  or  good,  which  the  child  can  com 
prehend.  Its  wants  of  body  and  mind  are  to  be 


24  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

supplied  only  through  this  or  its  deputed  agency. 
Fruitful  for  good  as  may  be  this  tie,  equally  so  can 
it  be  for  evil.  The  latter  rarely  arrives  from  choice, 
but  very  often  from  the  best  intentions  unwisely 
directed,  and  from  the  kindest  feelings  selfishly  per 
verted. 

I  will  sketch  my  father.  There  are  a  great  many 
like  him ;  so  not  many  words  will  be  requisite  for 
the  portrait.  In  the  first  place,  he  was  rich.  This 
gave  his  household  every  physical  comfort,  and  even 
luxury.  He  growled  at  paying  bills,  but  no  one  was 
more  punctual  in  paying  them.  His  ambition  unfor 
tunately  was  to  be  richer.  Being  in  commerce, 
his  entire  time,  energies,  and  capital,  were  always 
tied  fast  to  this  idea.  It  is  true  he  grew  richer 
yearly ;  but  his  trial-balance,  with  its  weighty  array 
of  stocks,  argosies,  and  rents,  was  more  like  a  Roman 
triumph  of  chained  wild-beasts,  and  fettered  kings 
and  queens,  glittering  in  gems,  trampling  over  the 
Via  Sacra,  than  a  joyous  procession  of  singing  hearts 
and  festive  bodies  sunning  themselves  in  his  pros 
perity.  The  world  looked  on  and  admired ;  it  dared 
not  touch,  but  bent  the  knee  in  homage  to  success, 
grateful  for  the  largesses  thrown  to  it  now  and  then 
to  keep  it  in  good  humor. 

The  richer  he  grew,  the  greater  was  his  stimulus 
to  become  more  rich.  It  became  his  passion.  True, 
it  excited  industry,  and  produced  marvels  in  the 
way  of  enterprise  ;  but  over  every  new  building, 
streaming  from  the  mast-heads  of  his  clipper  fleet, 
bubbling  in  the  wake  of  his  steam-ships,  on  whatever 
his  hands  touched  was  to  be  read  the  grim  motto, 


FATHER   AND   MOTHER.  25 

"cent  per  cent."  This  was  his  aim.  He  often 
reached  it.  Money,  like  poverty,  so  begot  itself  that 
the  gains  of  one  year  became  the  capital  of  the  next. 
That  my  father  had  at  the  bottom  a  tender  heart,  I 
felt  sure.  The  tear  at  my  birth,  and  his  sad  silence 
at  Benjamin's  death,  told  me  that.  But  he  had  no 
time  to  love.  His  thoughts  were  so  constantly  with 
his  ships  and  merchandise,  that  the  affections  with 
ered  from  lack  of  cultivation.  When  reminded  of 
his  family,  for  the  moment  he  was  considerate  and 
kind  ;  but  the  more  powerful  current  would  soon 
drown  the  feebler,  and  he  who  could  invest  of  a 
morning  tens  of  thousands  in  any  new  enterprise 
was  often  bankrupt  at  night  for  the  want  of  a  few 
dollars  to  gratify  his  wife  or  child.  It  was  not  ava 
rice  that  ruled  him,  but  monetary  ambition.  The 
demon  of  accumulation  had  taken  him  in  keeping, 
and  so  ossified  his  heart  to  purer  and  happier  life- 
currents,  that  he  had  at  last,  from  want  of  the  habit, 
become  ashamed  to  be  affectionate,  or  even  frank,  at 
home.  When  at  times  his  warmer  nature  showed 
itself,  the  other  speedily  avenged  the  weakness  by  a 
greater  reserve  of  manner  and  a  more  rigid  theory 
of  household  economy  than  ever.  I  say  theory,  for 
the  practice  was  sufficiently  liberal.  It  was  the 
feeling  of  self-reproach  in  those  dependent  upon  him 
for  having  any  wants  at  all  which  required  money, 
that  poisoned  the  expenditure,  and  made  each  dol 
lar  seem  more  like  a  drop  of  a  martyr's  blood  than 
what  it  really  is, — but  a  bit  pf  metal,  valuable  only 
as  it  represents  comfort  or  happiness, 

No  one  suffered  so  much  from  this  character  as 
3 


26  HEART  -  EXPERIENCE. 

my  father  himself.  He  was  at  bottom  too  sensible 
not  to  feel  at  times  that  he  had  made  a  mistake  in 
his  exclusive  pursuit  of  wealth.  This  disturbed  his 
conscience,  though  it  could  not  change  his  habits. 
Unfortunately,  he  was  not  of  a  demonstrative  nature. 
His  natural  manner  checked  even  the  innocent  mirth 
of  children,  and  chilled  the  tender  impulses  of  his 
wife.  Thus  as  he  grew  older  he  became  more  re 
served  to  his  family,  and  necessarily  sought  else 
where  those  pleasures  which,  to  have  been  enjoyed 
in  their  truest  sense,  should  have  been  shared  with 
them.  The  temperament  of  my  mother  unfortunate 
ly  made  this  still  worse.  She  was  excessively  sen 
sitive  and  impressible.  A  frown,  sulk,  or  hasty  word, 
quite  extinguished  her,  and  made  her  feel  as  a  crimi 
nal,  when  she  was  simply  a  victim.  There  is  no  men 
tal  torture  more  exquisite  than  that  which  a  selfish, 
querulous  nature  can  inflict  upon  an  unselfish  and 
affectionate  one,  provided  it  be  timid ;  for  its  fears 
excite  its  supposed  offences,  and  its  susceptibility 
turns  every  suppressed  emotion  to  anguish. 

An  infant  could  have  easily  imposed  upon  her.  I 
fear  I  often  did.  There  is  no  reminiscence  of  her 
more  dear  to  my  mind  now  than  of  a  whipping  she 
gave  me  with  my  favorite  horse-whip.  Only  once 
in  her  life  did  she  nerve  herself  up  to  this  duty.  It 
was  soundly  done,  and,  although  a  very  imperfect 
expiation  on  my  part  of  my  numerous  pranks,  yet  it 
was  so  unexpected  a  display  of  vigor  on  hers,  that, 
were  she  now  living,  and  should  call  upon  me  to  pre 
pare  for  another,  my  reverence  would  impel  me  at 
once  to  unbutton. 


FATHER  AND   MOTHER.  27 

My  father  was  not  suited  for  my  mother.  A 
stronger  and  bolder  nature  than  hers  could  have 
overcome  his  reserve,  compelled  his  attentions,  and 
won  his  confidence.  She  was  afraid  to  love  him,  or, 
rather,  she  became  so,  after  some  years  of  hopeless 
trial  and  submission,  which  often  would  have  been 
better  for  both  had  it  been  opposition.  I  was  afraid 
to  love  him  also.  My  nature  in  infancy  was  too  like 
my  mother's,  and  his  operated  on  me  to  quench  all 
freedom.  I  never  climbed  his  knee,  or  sat  in  his  lap. 
He  never  took  me  in  his  arms  but  once,  and  that 
was  to  shake  me  for  some  supposed  mischief.  As 
in  this  instance  I  did  not  deserve  it,  and  he  was  in 
a  passion,  the  impression  upon  me  was  not  a  favorable 
one.  I  became  still  more  afraid  of  him  because  I  saw 
that  he  could  be  unjust.  There  was  something  in 
me  he  seemed  to  like,  notwithstanding ;  for  whenever 
I  dared  approach  him  and  ask  for  favors,  he  granted 
them  readily.  Indeed,  he  was  timid  himself,  after 
his  own  kind,  and  disliked  to  say  no  in  family  mat 
ters,  preferring  to  dodge  all  domestic  questions  and 
responsibilities,  leaving  them  to  the  still  weaker  will 
of  his  wife  to  settle.  Thus  I  came  to  see  very  little 
of  him,  and  had  my  own  way  in  everything. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

BABY  MORALS  AND  NAME. 

DON'T  yawn,  old  folks  !  Let  baby  talk  to  you 
a  while  longer.  It  is  not  often  before  weaning  you 
hear  spoken  truth  from  the  little  ones  you  fondle 
and  scold,  as  may  be  your  own  mood.  If  we  do  not 
talk,  we  see  and  feel,  and  our  little  senses  are  won 
derfully  acute  to  detect  love,  sincerity,  frankness ; 
nay,  more,  the  hidden  truths  of  the  mature  heart  for 
good  or  evil  are  revealed  to  us  with  a  clearness  that 
it  would  be  wise  in  you  oftener  to  heed.  We  shrink 
from  craft,  cruelty,  and  selfishness  ;  we  welcome  the 
artless,  affectionate,  and  playful.  The  smile  of  an 
infant  is  often  the  touchstone  of  moral  worth.  Even 
the  caress  of  a  dog  is  not  to  be  unheeded.  How 
much  less,  then,  the  confidence  of  a'young  soul,  whose 
first  emotions  are  those  of  innocence  and  candor ! 

My  mother  well  understood  this.  She  knew  that 
in  watching  my  dawning  intelligence,  in  fondling 
and  caressing  me  a  thousand  times  daily,  in  being 
unwearied  in  her  attentions  to  my  wants  and  ca 
prices,  patient,  loving,  and  faithful,  she  was  herself 
reaping  a  harvest  of  happiness  purer  and  more 
enduring  than  she  could  derive  from  any  other 


BABY   MORALS   AND   NAME.  29 

source.  In  becoming  as  little  children  we  all  ap 
proach  the  kingdom  of  heaven ;  but  it  is  a  kingdom 
of  peace  and  joy  within  ourselves,  reflected  from  the 
guilelessness  of  these  little  playmates.  The  strength 
of  this  nature  is  shown  by  its  influence  over  the 
most  worldly,  hardened  minds.  David  of  Judah  and 
Henry  of  France  trampled  their  greatness  in  the 
dust  before  the  magnetism  of  an  infant's  love.  There 
is  a  power  in  its  spirit-fibre  to  turn  manhood  back 
to  babyhood,  because  there  is  no  selfish  alloy  in 
it.  As  you  measure  out  your  affections  they  are 
meted  to  you  again. 

I  think  my  father  sometimes  felt  his  loss  as  he 
would  come  home  suddenly  and  find  me  in  my 
mother's  arms,  caressing  her  with  my  tiny  hands, 
nestling  my  little  cheek  against  hers,  or  pouring  into 
her  eyes  the  love  that  overflowed  from  mine.  He 
never  sought  to  take  me.  Occasionally  he  would 
look  curiously  on,  as  if  it  were  some  moral  phenom 
enon  he  could  not  explain,  while  I  would  in  won 
der  open  my  large,  dark  eyes,  and  look  at  him  so 
steadily  that  he  sometimes  said,  "  How  that  child 
stares  I  What  can  it  mean  ?  It  looks  right  into  me." 

Had  he  then  gently  offered  to  take  me,  he  would 
have  known  that  I  had  love  to  give  to  him  as  well  as 
my  mother ;  that  a  baby  can  love  a  father  even  more 
than  a  mother  (nursing  thrown  in),  if  he  will  meet 
its  craving  for  affection  and  frolic  with  an  open 
heart  and  unclouded  brow ;  that  the  only  true  rela 
tionship  is  that  which  springs  from  kindred  emo 
tions  and  entwined  affections.  But  no  ;  his  thoughts 
were  either  far  away  with  his  ships,  or  brooding  over 


30  HEART-  EXPERIENCE. 

ledger  and  journal.  The  mechanic,  the  laborer,  the 
tradesman,  the  professional  man,  the  soldier,  sailor, 
farmer,  the  savage  even,  have  time  to  play  with 
their  children.  It  is  only  the  "  man  of  business  "  of 
the  American  type,  who  has  no  time  to  love,  to  eat, 
or  to  play.  And  as  you  mount  the  golden  ladder  to 
the  chill  region  above,  does  not  the  sight  of  the 
green  meadows,  the  running  streams,  those  glorious 
clouds  reflecting  their  bright  colors  upon  the  rich, 
warm,  sunlit  landscape, — a  landscape  made  up  of  love 
and  truth, —  does  not  such  a  sight  tempt  you  to  pause 
before  turning  your  back  upon  it  forever?  Feel 
ings  once  frozen  from  neglect  to  keep  alive  their, 
soul-fire  cannot  be  melted  by  a  transient  sigh  of 
regret,  nor  made  to  yield  their  warmth  at  a  moment 
ary  desire.  The  rock  must  then  be  smitten,  if  it 
would  give  out  living  waters. 

In  the  exchange  between  parent  and  infant  who 
gives  the  most — the  one  who  feeds,  cherishes,  and 
protects,  or  the  one  who  makes  light,  and  peace,  and 
joy,  reign  in  a  household?  I  came  to  the  earth  to 
learn,  and  I  have  no  intention  of  disguising  the  truth. 
As  my  experience  covers  all  the  ground,  my  opin 
ion  is  entitled  to  be  heard. 

Most  sincerely,  in  this  matter,  do  I  give  my  ver 
dict  for  the  infant,  provided  you  have  endowed  it 
with  a  healthful  body,  and  bestowed  upon  it  needful 
care.  Where  pain  and  sorrow  brooded  constantly  be 
tween  alienated  hearts,  have  I  known  a  babe,  simply 
by  the  sympathy  of  its  artless  joys,  its  loving  pan 
tomime,  its  wonderful  intelligence,  its  fun,  mischief, 
and  its  exigencies,  restore  smiles,  recreate  peace,  and 


BABY    MORALS    AND    NAME.  31 

force  the  still  unloving  parents  to  live  in  harmony, 
and  vie  with  each  other  for  the  embraces  and  affec 
tion  of  their  child, — and  all  this  even  before  it  could 
utter  a  word.  Its  atmosphere  banished  discord,  and 
soothed  disappointment.  Can  a  parent  compensate 
an  infant  for  this  ?  Adult  hearts,  though  wedded, 
may  differ,  cease  to  love  even,  and  neither  be  to 
blame,  because  their  affections  are  subject  to  laws 
that  sway  alike  souls  and  the  universe.  Both  must 
obey  their  moral  and  intellectual  needs  and  capaci 
ties.  But,  as  in  all  hearts  there  exists  a  common 
fountain  of  innocence  and  love,  however  deeply 
buried  by  disuse  or  error,  there  is  no  talisman  so 
sure  to  make  its  waters  flow  as  the  smiles  of  infancy. 

Would,  for  his  sake  and  mine,  my  father  had  early 
found  out  this  celestial  secret !  He  would  have  been 
richer  by  far  than  he  was  with  his  piles  of  ingots. 
But  he  was  waiting  to  be  rich  enough  ;  then  he  would 
cultivate  his  family.  Now  he  simply  said,  as  if  my 
presence  disturbed  him,  "  Had  you  not  better  send 
the  child  to  the  nursery  ?  " 

A  wish  looked,  much  less  spoken,  by  him,  was  a 
Mede  and  Persian  edict  to  my  yielding  mother,  whose 
sole  fault  was  to  victimize  herself  too  much  to  what 
she  had  been  educated  to  consider  as  duties,  with 
out  reflecting  that  obedience  to  another  might  prove 
treason  to  herself.  I  do  not  cite  this  as  an  instance. 
But  such  was  her  nature,  and  she  was  always  suffer 
ing,  in  consequence,  from  the  conflict  between  con 
ventional  right  and  the  actual  right  of  her  own 
nature. 

She  held  me  out  to  him,  saying  at  him,  but  to  me, 


32  HEART -EXPERIENCE. 

"  Good-by;  papa/'  hoping  he  would  smile  upon  me, 
and  perhaps  offer  to  kiss  me.  Her  heart  drooped 
and  her  face  grew  sad,  I  believe  a  tear  began  to 
roll  from  between  her  eyelids,  as  he  abstractedly 
looked  at  us  both,  but  saw  neither. 

I  am  sure  I  resented  in  my  heart  his  coldness. 
How  could  it  be  otherwise,  accustomed  as  I  was  to 
the  fondness  of  my  mother  ?  Had  he  a  minute  after 
tried  to  take  me,  I  should  have  screamed  and  shrunk 
from  him,  and  been  judged  by  him  to  be  an  unnatu 
ral  child. 

I  was  promptly  sent  up  stairs.  This  was  a  com 
mon  occurrence,  while  my  mother  considered  it  her 
duty  to  remain  below,  as  he  would  have  accused  her 
of  neglecting  him,  had  she  obeyed  her  instincts  and 
gone  with  me. 

Did  he  converse  with  her?  No.  Did  he  give 
her  his  business-confidence?  No.  She  was  a  wom 
an,  and  such  a  thought  never  entered  his  head. 
Brooding  in  silence  over  his  plans,  dozing,  or  bur 
ied  in  newspapers,  hour  after  hour  would  he  sit, 
answering  only  in  monosyllables  her  attempts  at 
conversation,  arid  seldom  replying  except  to  a  sen 
tence  twice  repeated.  Now,  if  this  be  not  social 
martyrdom  to  a  sensitive  woman,  what  is  ? 

For  some  time  past  she  had  been  vainly  seeking 
to  obtain  from  him  some  decided  opinion  as  to  a 
name  for  me.  "  Have  you  thought,  my  dear,  of  a 
name  yet  for  our  child  ?  "  she  timidly  asked.  No 
reply. 

She  repeated  the  question,  adding  a  favorite  name 
of  her  own  choice,  which  she  hoped  might  please 


BABY  MORALS  AND  NAME.  33 

him.  I  was  to  be  baptized  that  afternoon,  and  he 
was  to  spare  five  minutes  from  pressing  business  to 
come  in  just  as  I  was  at  the  font. 

He  evidently  heard  her  that  time.  Taking  his 
hat,  and  opening  the  door,  he  said,  "  I  have  decided 
upon  Catamaran." 

"  Katilan  !  "  exclaimed  my  mother,  in  surprise,  but 
half  hearing  the  strange  word. 

My  father  thought  she  had  asked  him  what  name 
he  had  decided  upon  for  a  clipper  ship  about  to  be 
launched. 

He  dropped  in  to  the  baptism.  The  holy  water 
fixed  his  mistake  indelibly  upon  my  body,  which 
from  that  day  forth  was  known  as  "  Katilan."  That 
evening  my  father  asked  my  name,  and  said  it  was 
not  a  bad  one,  but  denied  positively  as  to  its  being 
his  choice.  Mother  dared  not  contradict  him,  so 
the  subject  was  not  renewed. 


CHAPTER   V. 

MY   FIRST   LESSON   IN  SALVATION. 

MISTAKES  rule  the  world,  or  very  nearly  so.  Reli 
gion,  politics,  love,  are  alike  their  sport.  We  call  the 
result  to  ourselves  fate,  destiny,  or  any  other  name 
which  will  assuage  wounded  amour  propre,  or  our 
disappointment  in  finding  out,  after  a  long  and  weary 
travel,  that  we  have  mistaken  our  road,  for  want  of 
proper  attention  to  the  sign-boards. 

Myself  and  my  name  were,  as  has  been  shown, 
both  born  of  a  mistake  of  my  parents.  It  was  a  great 
mistake  of  their  own  to  have  married.  Ever  since, 
they  had  been  drifting  wider  apart,  from  lack  of 
mutual  fitness.  It  was  not  in  the  nature  of  spirit 
that  they  would  ever  be  joined,  whatever  the  law 
might  decide.  Yet  both  had  compensations  in  life  : 
both  were  useful  to  the  world  in  a  different  way; 
and  each  had  a  certain  harmony  of  coloring,  apart 
from  the  other,  in  the  turnings  of  the  human  kalei 
doscope. 

Although  my  father  overlooked  domestic  life  him 
self,  he  contributed  greatly  to  the  means  of  it  for 
others.  Hundreds  found  him  a  just  and  often  liberal 
employer;  many  more  found  their  energies  and  abili- 


MY   FIRST   LESSON  IN  SALVATION.  35 

ties  stimulated  by  his  example  and  advice ;  while 
there  was  no  enterprise  born  of  commerce,  and  prom 
ising  "  to  pay  "  even  in  the  distant  future,  that  he 
did  not  encourage.  Such  a  man  could  have  been 
illy  spared  from  a  mercantile  public.  But  he  was 
no  more  fit  than  a  pope  to  be  a  husband.  All  he 
thought  of  or  cared  for  was  a  brisk  business.  His 
principle  of  politics  was  a  flourishing  trade.  He 
never,  however,  engaged  in  any  dubious  traffic,  as 
he  was  too  sagacious  not  to  see  that,  next  to  a  solid 
capital,  a  good  reputation  was  necessary  to  render 
success  permanent.  On  commerce  he  was  eloquent ; 
in  politics  lively,  if  they  touched  the  tariff  question ; 
but  on  all  other  topics  silent,  except  occasionally 
when  some  more  zealous  than  wise  theologian  sought 
to  convert  him  from  the  "  error  of  his  ways, "  and 
induce  him  to  join  his  church,  as  the  only  portal 
of  heaven.  Then  he  would  explode  his  hackneyed 
dogmas  and  stereotype  phrases,  with  a  force  of  rea 
son,  natural  to  his  shrewd  mind,  that  left  the  bigot 
floundering  high  and  dry  in  his  own  theological 
morass,  mourning  over  the  loss  of  so  much  wealth 
and  influence  which  a  weaker  head  might  have  put 
under  his  control. 

My  father  had  read  the  Bible,  and  had  his  own 
views  of  religion.  He  owned  severalpews  in  vari 
ous  churches,  but  never  entered  them,  although  he 
allowed  his  family  to  go  wherever  they  felt  inclined. 
To  the  clergy  he  was  studiously  courteous,  provided 
they  let  him  alone.  He  used  to  say  "  that,  if  he  were 
a  burning  brand,  he  felt  no  confidence  in  being 
plucked  from  the  fire  by  their  hands  ;"  and  sometimes 


36  EEART -EXPERIENCE. 

somewhat  irreverently  would  add,  "  He  preferred  to 
remain  outside  of  their  creed,  so  as  not  to  be  com 
mitted  either  to  their  heaven  or  hell." 

He  had  no  objection,  however,  to  others  sitting 
out  the  longest  and  most  unintelligible  discourse,  if 
it  so  pleased  them ;  or  praying  in  public,  kneeling, 
standing,  or  sitting,  or  any  other  way,  provided  they 
did  not  force  him  to  do  the  same.  As  he  was  a  lib 
eral  contributor  to  church-bells,  plate,  destitute  pious 
young  men,  and  regularly  pensioned  several  middle- 
aged  female  saints,  —  whose  presence  he  dreaded  in 
his  counting-room  far  more  than  he  feared  an  irrup 
tion  of  corsairs,  —  simply  to  keep  away,  he  was, 
upon  the  whole,  considered  a  highly  respectable 
man,  somewhat  eccentric,  but  not  without  a  "  hope" 
after  his  own  peculiar  way.  I  would  not  have  given 
much  for  his  "  hope  "  of  salvation  among  them,  had 
he  become  bankrupt. 

Among  the  array  of  females  who  dared  occasion 
ally  to  invade  his  holy  of  holies  was  his  own  sister, 
the  maiden,  some  ten  years  his  senior,  whose  tongue 
found  me  so  charming  the  day  I  looked  in  upon  the 
world.  She  had  got  the  notion  into  her  head  that, 
being  his  only  near  relation,  she  was  destined  to 
outlive  him  and  his  family,  and  inherit  his  property. 
Most  of  her  leisure  time  was  spent  in  planning  the 
good  "  she  was  to  do  with  it."  Every  child  of  his 
she  looked  upon  as  amiably  as  an  Italian  looks  upon 
a  "jettatura."  From  my  birth  I  was  especially  her 
"  evil  eye  ; "  but,  as  she  devoutly  believed  in  her  des 
tiny,  and  as  the  measles,  whooping-cough,  mumps, 
and  scarlet  fever,  had  each  yet  a  chance  at  me,  she 


MY   FIRST   LESSON   IN   SALVATION.  37 

was  so  amiable  to  mo  in  public  that  my  confiding 
mother  really  fancied  she  loved  me. 

She  and  my  father  had  never  agreed,  except  in  one 
point,  namely,  to  see  as  little  of  each  other  as  possi 
ble.  Hers  was  an  active,  fidgety  temperament,  some 
what  narrowed  in  understanding  from  lack  of  affec 
tion  and  education.  But,  when  she  did  apply  herself 
to  anything,  she  was  as  penetrating  as  a  gimlet, 
and  about  as  soothing  in  her  operations.  Being  a 
woman,  too,  the  business  world  was  shut  to  her  enter 
prise.  As  yet  no  man  had  ventured  to  suggest  mat 
rimony  to  her;  and,  if  one  did  venture,  unless  of  the 
clergy,  and  while  she  was  under  the  excitement  of 
"  a  call "  to  some  religious  duty,  to  do  her  justice,  I 
think  she  would  snap  her  fingers  in  his  face ;  for  she 
had  a  decided  contempt  for  the  sex,  and  no  more 
tenderness  than  a  bomb-shell.  The  church  was  her 
field ;  and  she  patronized  it  so  vehe'mently,  that,  by 
the  influence  of  her  patrimony  and  her  expectations, 
she  soon  had  a  little  clerical  court  about  her.  She 
deserved  this  distinction,  for  she  was  as  well  up  in  all 
its  requirements  as  her  brother  was  deficient.  No 
six-days'  meeting,  services  three  times  daily,  found 
her  wanting ;  no  prayer  or  sewing  circle  was  com 
plete  without  her  sHrill  voice  and  tall  presence ;  no 
missionary,  temperance,  anti-snuff,  or  any  other  reli 
gious  anniversary  of  her  sect,  —  I  forget  what  it  was 
called,  but  it  required  a  proselyte  to  be  put  all  under 
water,  and  to  say  he  believed  in  many  things  no  mor 
tal  head  has  ever  yet  comprehended,  —  escaped  her 
notice.  If  these  attentions,  thrice  daily  confessing 
herself  the  most  miserable  of  sinners  and  very  wil- 
4 


3  8  HEART  -  EXPERIENCE. 

ling  to  be  damned  for  the  glory  of  her  Maker,  twice 
annually  reading  the  Bible  through  without  skipping 
a  verse  or  understanding  it  either,  a  weekly  tea- 
assembly  of  promising  young  men  for  the  ministry 
exceedingly  fond  of  her  excellent  sweetmeats  and 
irreproachable  hot  cakes, — if  all  this,  and  weekly 
contributions  for  tracts  to  the  Ottomis,  for  treatises 
on  the  proper  understanding  of  Tlacatzintiliztlatla- 
colli  *  to  the  Delawares,  without  which  they  could 
not  be  saved  in  the  true  sense  of  Schwielendamo- 
witchewagan,f  and  to  explain  to  the  Sooakelees  the 
nature  of  Mooigniazimoongo,  +  could  make  a  saint, 
of  my  Aunt  Petronia,  she  was  one.  She  had  a  deep 
reverence  for  all  scriptural  localities ;  and  often  re 
gretted  she  could  not  make  a  pilgrimage  to  the  spot 
where  Elisha's  bears  devoured  the  naughty,  wicked 
children,  and  to  the  dung-heap  of  Job,  which  some 
young  man  just  returned  from  Arabia  had  told  her 
he  had  not  only  seen,  but  sat  upon. 

My  aunt  was  a  sincere  woman  in  everything  ex 
cept  her  admiration  of  me  ;  even  in  that  I  considered 
her  not  wholly  blameworthy,  as  evidently  she  could 
not  always  help  it.  But  her  zeal  for  the  church  was 
something  stupendous.  Her  little  court  was  ever 
putting  it  to  the  test,  though  they  frequently  found 
her  sentiments  easier  to  stimulate  than  control. 

It  must  not  surprise  you,  dear  reader,  that  I,  who 
was  so  quick  at  understanding  before  I  was  born, 
should  even  as  an  infant  be  peculiarly  bright.  In 
deed,  I  considered  myself  on  a  mission  from  my 
brother  ideas,  which  I  had  left  in  charge  of  my  old 

*  "  Original  Sin."  t  "  Repentance."  t  God. 


MY   FIRST   LESSON   IN   SALVATION.  39 

friend  the  angel ;  and  it  would  depend  very  much 
upon  my  report  whether  they  would  wish  also  to 
see  the  world  for  themselves.  On  that  account  my 
memory  and  perception  were  developed  at  a  very 
tender  age,  as  you  perceive  by  these  observations, 
which  were  actually  made  when  my  judgment  was 
very  green.  Do  not  value  them  the  less  on  that 
account.  We  all  ripen  through  experience,  and  I 
am  bound  faithfully  to  record  what  I  saw,  heard,  and 
felt.  I  do  not  promise  to  be  always  chronologically 
exact.  But  that  is  of  no  importance,  provided  the 
idea  is  correctly  given.  Of  this  you  must  judge  for 
yourself. 

Many  were  the  consultations  held  at  my  aunt's, 
among  the  oldest  and  most  enthusiastic  of  her  circle, 
as  to  the  best  means  of  bringing  my  father  within 
their  fold.  Prior  to  the  decision  to  which  they  ulti 
mately  arrived,  no  less  than  twelve »  evenings  were 
spent  in  prayer,  mainly  to  enlighten  their  minds  on 
this  momentous  topic,  and  to  crown  their  efforts  with 
success.  Once  or  twice  my  aunt  begged  or  stole 
me  from  my  mother,  that  I  might  be  suitably  im 
pressed  with  the  pious  efforts  made  for  my  father. 
On  these  occasions,  there  were  added  some  sen 
tences,  chiefly  by  my  aunt,  on  my  behalf.  I  learned 
from  these  exercises  several  important  facts,  the 
chief  of  which  was  that  no  one  who  was  not  admitted 
to  their  church  was  sure  of  being  saved.  I  asked 
my  aunt  what  "being  saved"  meant.  She  turned  in 
pious  horror  to  the  kneeling  circle,  put  up  her  bony 
hands  straight  into  the  air,  and  exclaimed,  "What 
dreadful  ignorance,  my  lost  child  !  How  my  heart 


40  HEART -EXPERIENCE. 

bleeds  for  you  !  Let  us  unite  once  more  in  a  peti 
tion,  my  friends,  to  awaken  the  conscience  of  this 
child's  father,  that  he  may  be  led,  both  himself  and 
his  little  one,  to  confess  their  sins."  Why  they 
omitted  my  mother  in  their  efforts  I  could  not  guess; 
but  my  aunt  seldom  recognized  her  existence,  unless 
she  had  some  subscription  in  view. 

From  their  prayer  I  learned  that  unless  joined  to 
the  church  we  were  irrevocably  doomed  to  be  roast 
ed  in  eternal  fires,  growing  hotter  each  minute,  with 
in  horrid  caverns  called  hell,  with  a  great  devil,  and 
many  little  devils,  as  hideous  as  the  imagination 
could  conceive,  sticking  hot  pitch-forks  into  us,  and 
piling  on  sulphur  to  make  the  torment  greater. 

Somehow  or  other  I  could  not  fed  that  they  were 
in  earnest  in  regard  to  me,  although  their  groans 
and  tears,  which  were  very  dismal,  made  me  uncom 
fortable.  Having  once  got  the  devil  and  his  works 
into  my  imagination,  I  could  not  easily  get  them  out 
of  it.  He  both  frightened  and  disgusted  me.  Much 
I  wondered,  too,  what  my  father  had  done  to  merit 
such  treatment.  The  only  charge  they  brought 
against  him  was  that  he  did  not  believe  as  they  did, 
and  that  the  state  of  my  heart  and  his  was  so  bad 
as  to  deserve  such  an  end.  When  they  told  me  little 
children  were  very  abundant  in  hell,  I  shuddered. 
They  then  added,  if  I  died  that  night  without  a 
change  of  heart,  I  was  sure  to  go  there ;  and  that  I 
could  not  change  my  heart  myself,  but  must  pray  to 
a  Being,  who  would  do  it  for  me,  if  I  were  to  be 
saved  at  all.  I  felt  very  miserably,  and  began  to 
cry,  and  wish  I  had  never  been  born. 


MY   FIRST   LESSON   IN   SALVATION.  41 

My  sorrow  appeared  to  rejoice  the  group  very 
much,  and  they  whispered  among  themselves  that 
I  would  soon  be  a  fit  candidate  for  the  "  anxious  " 
seat.  What  this  was,  I  could  not  guess;  but  greater 
anxiety  than  mine  at  that  moment  a  young  child's 
bosom  can  never  experience,  except  in  the  society 
of  the  "  elect." 

My  natural  spirits  at  intervals  flashed  out,  and  dis 
pelled  my  gloom.  In  one  of  these  courageous  mo 
ments  I  ventured  to  say  I  did  not  believe  there  could 
be  such  a  being  as  a  devil. 

Immediately,  a  solemn-looking  individual,  dressed 
in  rusty  black,  with  a  large  stomach,  stiffly  arose, 
fixed  his  cold,  stern  eyes  upon  me,  and  in  a  sepul 
chral  voice  said,  "  There  is  a  devil !  He  goes  about 
the  world  at  times  in  a  human  body ;  he  is  in  this 
room  at  this  very  minute  ! "  And  he  stared  at  me  so 
fixedly  that  for  an  instant  a  cold  sweat  came  over  my 
body  for  fear  the  monster  was  at  that  moment  pre 
paring  to  grab  me. 

The  speaker  had  been  a  missionary  for  twenty 
years  among  a  tribe  of  semi-cannibals,  without  seeing 
the  face  of  a  white  man,  except  a  choice  few  that 
believed  as  he  did,  and  a  number  of  very  sad  sinners, 
who,  preferring  heathen  existence  to  forecastle  dis 
cipline,  often  gave  him  much  cause  of  anxiety  in  his 
flock ;  consequently  he  was  esteemed  a  miracle  of 
piety  and  learning,  and  his  sayings  treasured  as  di 
vine  oracles.  From  that  moment  I  believed  there 
was  a  devil ;  and  it  was  many  years  before  —  but  I 
am  anticipating  my  idea. 

Wishing  to  change  the  subject,  I  next  inquired 
4* 


42  HE  ART -EXPERIENCE. 

what  sort  of  a  place  heaven  was.  "  Heaven/'  said 
the  same  voice,  in  the  same  attitude,  "  is  the  abode 
of  the  elect.  They  stand  around  the  throne  of 
God,  clad  in  white  robes,  with  harps  in  their  hands, 
singing  hymns  and  psalms  of  praise  for  ever  and 
ever." 

"Do  they  never  sit?"  I  innocently  asked;  for 
which  question,  and  a  simultaneous  yawn  which  I 
could  not  repress,  my  ears  were  soundly  boxed  by 
my  aunt,  saying,  "  Did  you  ever  see  such  irrever 
ence  ? — in  one  so  young  too  !  We  must  redouble  our 
efforts  over  this  precocious  vessel  of  wrath."  Think 
ing  that  meant  another  box,  I  gave  them  a  sample 
of  my  lungs,  yelling  out,  "  I  will  go  home  at  once  ! 
I  will  not  be  saved  !  I  hate  heaven  !  I  want  nothing 
to  do  with  God  !"  But,  in  the  midst  of  my  wrath,  I 
dared  not  say  a  disrespectful  word  of  the  devil. 

My  aunt  sent  me  home  without  further  punish 
ment.  She  was  too  shocked  to  speak  or  strike.  I 
believe  the  whole  company  felt  as  much  relieved  at 
my  departure  as  did  Lot  when  he  got  well  out  of 
Sodom  after  the  hint  he  received  to  go.  They  de 
voured  that  evening  an  extra  quantity  of  my  aunt's 
tea  and  sweetmeats,  and  after  singing,  in  praise  of 
"  Our  Father  in  heaven/7  several  hymns  graphically 
describing  the  damnation  of  all  mankind  excepting 
the  present  company  and  their  friends,  they  sepa 
rated,  much  refreshed  in  body  and  soul  for  the  great 
privilege  of  the  meeting  so  mercifully  granted  to 
such  unworthy  sinners. 

As  for  me,  after  kissing  my  mother,  and  saying  at 
her  knees,  as  usual,  the  infant's  prayer,  "  Now  I  lay 


MY   FIRST   LESSON   IN   SALVATION.  43 

me  down  to  sleep,"  of  which  my  heart  did  not  hear 
one  word,  I  went  to  bed  alone,  as  usual.  My  dear 
mother  had  always  accustomed  me  to  this,  as  well  as 
to  waiting  upon  myself. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   ANTIDOTE. 

THE  night  of  my  aunt's  circle  was  a  sad  one  for 
me.  It  was  my  first  experience  of  mental  terror. 
Through  its  long  hours  I  lay  restless,  my  young 
brain  addled  by  contradictory  thoughts,  wondering 
if  by  any  possibility  there  could  be  such  a  heaven 
and  hell  as  I  had  heard  described,  and  if  everybody 
who  died  must  go  to  one  or  the  other.  If  the  devil's 
kingdom  appalled  me,  the  abode  and  occupations  of 
the  saved  were  by  no  means  inviting.  Why  did  not 
my  father  or  my  mother  tell  me  of  such  places  ? 
They  seemed  to  have  no  knowledge  of  them.  That 
thought  comforted  me  not  a  little,  for  I  felt  sure  no 
being  could  wish  to  harm  my  mamma.  She  who  was 
so  gentle  and  so  good,  — what  had  she  to  fear? 

If  I  dozed,  a  weight  pressed  upon  my  heart ;  my 
head  grew  hot,  while  curious  and  abominable  shapes 
flitted  before  my  shut  eyes.  I  could  plainly  see,  or 
rather  feel  them;  and,  though  shadowy  and  undefined, 
they  were  full  of  terror  and  misery  to  me.  Once,  on 
awakening  suddenly,  the  very  devil  they  had  told 
me  of,  with  his  great  red  eyes,  and  hairy  skin,  and 
long,  loathsome,  arrow-headed  tail,  was  standing  by 


THE   ANTIDOTE.  45 

the  bed-post  grinning  and  mocking,  and  telling  me  it 
was  quite  true  that  hell  was  paved  with  infants'  skulls. 
A  paralysis  of  fear  seized  me.  My  heart  stopped 
beating.  Every  nerve  quivered  with  repressed 
anguish.  I  could  not  call  out,  for  my  tongue  was  as 
rigid  as  iron.  The  hot  breath  of  fifty  Beelzebubs 
was  steaming  over  me.  Had  I  been  at  that  moment 
dropped  into  that  hell  to  which  my  excited  imagin 
ation  had  already  added  so  many  new  horrors,  I 
could  not  have  suffered  more. 

Why  are  mere  theologians  suffered  to  teach  reli 
gion?  They  little  know  the  doubt  and  distress  they 
create  in  young  minds.  Far  better  would  it  be,  if 
Christian  deeds  were  only  shown  them,  conjoined  to 
the  plain  precepts  of  the  love  and  justice  of  Christ. 
But  when  fanatics  and  bigots  are  permitted  to  mould 
the  religious  ideas  of  youth,  infancy  must  suffer, 
not  only  from  spectral  torments,  but  it  must  also 
imbibe  notions  of  the  Divinity  which  change  him 
from  a  father  to  a  monster. 

Not  every  child  is  blessed  with  such  an  antidote  as 
I  possessed.  When  I  got  up  in  the  morning,  so  per 
suaded  was  I  that  some  evil  thing  was  in  my  room, 
I  jerked  on  my  clothes,  and,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  flew 
down  stairs  without  touching  them,  not  daring  to 
look  back,  or  draw  a  long  breath,  until  I  was  fairly 
out  into  the  open  air  and  sunlight.  When  I  could 
look  up  to  the  beautiful  sky  I  was  soothed. 

At  breakfast  my  mother  noticed  my  paleness  and 
want  of  appetite.  She  asked  me  no  questions  be 
fore  my  father,  who  would  have  been  intensely  an 
gry  had  he  known  that  I  had  been  at  one  of  my 


46  HE  ART -EXPERIENCE. 

aunt's  meetings.  "  Let  them  shout  in  their  sulphur 
ous  canopy,"  he  would  say,  "  by  themselves  ; "  insist 
ing  always  that  he  was  quoting  from  Dr.  Watts. 
When  he  was  gone  out,  she  took  me  in  her  lap  and 
questioned  me.  I  told  her  my  aunt  had  come  while 
she  was  out  and  taken  me  to  tea,  with  all  the  par 
ticulars. 

Now,  my  mother  had  been  herself  subjected  to 
similar  teachings,  and  had  heard  much  preaching  of  a 
like  nature.  The  doctrines  had,  however,  never  gone 
deeper  than  her  ear,  for  her  heart  was  too  firmly  set 
in  the  right  place  to  allow  fallacies  of  the  head  to 
distort  her  simple  faith.  She  knew  that  God  and 
good  were  synonymous  terms;  and  all  that  tended  to 
derogate  from  that  idea  must  in  some  way,  though 
she  could  not  explain  it,  be  error.  For  a  while 
speculative  ideas  of  sin  and  the  future  had  worried 
her  mind ;  but,  as  neither  her  reading  nor  reflections 
had  ever  helped  her  to  any  solution  conformable  to 
the  dogmas  preached  from  pulpits,  she  had  deter 
mined  to  act  in  accordance  with  her  rigid  ideas  of 
duty,  leaving  the  secrets  of  eternity  to  develop 
themselves  to  her  when  called  upon  to  enter  that 
state. 

"My  dear  Lame,"  —  she  had  diminished  my  odd 
name  into  that  pretty  one,  —  "  my  dear  Lanie,  when 
you  have  grown  up,  you  will  understand  better  what 
your  aunt  means.  She  wished  to  do  you  good,  but 
you  are  quite  too  young  to  comprehend  such  teach 
ings.  Do  not  go  there  again  without  I  am  with 
you."  She  spoke  most  kindly  of  her,  and,  having 
calmed  me,  passing,  as  she  talked,  one  of  her  delicate, 


THE   ANTIDOTE.  47 

soft  hands  through  my  long,  flaxen  curls,  and  hold 
ing  mine  with  her  other,  she  told  me  pretty  stories 
about  Christ.  How  that  God  had  sent  him  to  tell 
little  children  He  loved  them,  and  would,  if  they 
were  good,  take  them  to  his  arms,  and  make  them 
very  happy.  And  so  she  went  on,  saying  such 
sweet  things  of  God  and  Christ,  that,  although  I  had 
often  heard  them  from  her  before,  they  seemed  new 
to  me,  and  made  my  heart  swell  with  love  to  both. 
Hers  was  that  perfect  love  that  casteth  out  fear. 
Whenever  she  was  present  evil  thoughts  and  terror 
were  exorcised.  I  quickly  forgot  my  sufferings  in 
the  warm  eloquence  of  a  mother's  love.  The  mem 
ory  of  that  conversation  often,  in  after  life,  proved 
to  my  disturbed  thoughts  like  the  music  of  David 
to  Saul. 

Truth  comes  to  mortals  gently,  tenderly,  and 
sweetly,  filling  them  with  a  peace  that  passeth  un 
derstanding.  Error  clouds,  affrights,  angers,  and 
debases  the  soul.  By  their  respective  fruits  may 
we  know  them.  My  struggles  were  the  instinctive 
opposition  of  my  soul  to  falsehood.  Such  doctrines 
were  not  its  right  element,  while  my  mother's  pro 
duced  hope  and  harmony. 

How  I  loved  my  mother  an  anecdote  of  my  baby 
hood,  when  but  fifteen  months  old,  will  show.  She 
was  called  away  from  home  for  a  few  days.  I  could 
just  walk,  and  was  beginning  to  talk.  The  first  day, 
they  have  since  told  me,  I  was  continually  calling 
"  mamma,"  and  seeking  for  her  everywhere.  On  the 
second,  I  insisted  upon  looking  into  all  of  her  favorite 
haunts,  refusing  to  believe  that  she  was  gone.  The 


48  HEART    EXPERIENCE. 

third,  they  said  I  realized  she  was  not  to  be  seen ; 
and,  as  if  indignant  at  her  leaving  me,  I  utterly 
refused  to  speak  of  her,  and  maintained  a  sorrowful 
silence.  After  that,  if  they  took  me  into  the  street, 
and  I  saw  any  one  who  resembled  her,  I  made  such 
a  clamor,  they  were  obliged  to  take  me  home  at 
once.  After  nine  days,  she  returned.  I  rushed  to 
her,  I  clung  to  her,  I  kissed  her,  J  patted  her,  I 
screamed  constantly  "  mamma  !  mamma  !  "  and  then 
I  pouted  and  frowned  upon  her,  as  a  punishment  for 
leaving  me.  But  I  could  not  keep  that  up  over  a 
second,  before  I  went  to  the  opposite  extreme, 
cleaving  to  and  embracing  her  as  if  I  would  grow 
to  her  heart.  Those  who  looked  on  said  it  was  a 
delirium  of  infantile  joy,  and  they  became  almost  as 
excited  as  I.  That  day  and  that  night,  young  as  I 
was,  I  could  neither  eat  nor  sleep ;  and  if  any  one 
intimated  my  mother  was  going  away  again,  I  went 
into  a  spasm  of  despair. 

My  mother's  system  of  teaching  me  was  both 
pleasant  and  judicious.  She  was  well  versed  in 
ancient  history  ;  and  with  her  stories  of  the  Hebrew 
prophets  and  kings,  and  her  relations  of  the  love 
and  sufferings  of  Jesus,  she  mingled  narratives  from 
the  lives  of  the  great  and  good  men  of  Greece  and 
Rome,  with  such  familiar  explanations  of  their  times 
and  ideas,  that  I  felt  I  knew  them  all  personally.  I 
look  back  with  intense  satisfaction  to  this  element 
ary  education.  Not  a  word  of  my  mother's  escaped. 
Her  comments  upon  their  principles  and  actions 
magnetized  mine,  and  made  my  imagination  take  me 
back  to  their  existence,  and  make  me  an  actor  amid 


THE   ANTIDOTE.  49 

their  scenes.  Thus  the  ancient  world  became  an 
actual  world  to  me.  Those  who  believe  in  the  nat 
ural  depravity  of  a  child's  heart  will  be  disappointed 
to  learn  that  mine  was  much  more  gratified  to  hear 
of  good  deeds  than  bad.  My  delight  was  to  step 
into  dead  heroes'  shoes,  —  to  place  myself  in  the 
positions  of  Epaminondas,  'Cmion,  Aristides,  Pho- 
cion,  Numa,  Cato,  the  democratic  Gracchi,  Socrates, 
and  many  others  of  the  statesmen  and  sages  of  those 
days,  in  their  best  moments,  and  imagine  myself  each 
of  them  in  turn.  This  vicarious  life  seemed  more 
real  to  me  than  my  own.  A  sentiment  of  venera 
tion  kept  me  from  taking  similar  liberties  with  the 
characters  of  our  sacred  books.  I  looked  upon 
them  as  exceptional  beings,  neither  endowed  like 
ourselves,  nor  to  be  judged  by  the  standard  of 
human  nature.  Indeed,  with  the  exception  of 
Jesus  and  Paul,  and  perhaps  the  traditional  love  of 
John,  I  do  not  think  that  they  impressed  me  half  as 
much  as  those  of  classical  antiquity. 

Before  I  was  eight  years  old,  I  had  read  again 
and  again  Homer,  Plutarch,  Josephus,  Anacharsis, 
Rollin,  Herodotus,  and  all  the  other  histories  and 
fictions  I  could  lay  hands  upon  relating  to  this 
period.  Anacharsis  was  to  me  a  genuine  traveller ; 
much  more  so  than  Bayard  Taylor  or  Stephens. 

A  year  later,  and  I  was  a  crusader.  Tasso  was  my 
inspiration.  No  medieval  knight  ever  encountered 
half  as  many  adventures,  or  came  out  of  them  as 
chivalrously,  as  I.  These  doughty  deeds  were  not 
confined  to  my  mother's  sanctum,  but  I  often  es 
caped  to  the  woods,  and  there  inoculated  other 
5 


50  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

boys  with  my  illusions,  fancying  ourselves  Binal- 
dos,  Tancreds,  or  Cids  ;  and  we  gallantly  mounted 
long  sticks,  and  charged  through  hosts  of  Paymin 
foes,  slaughtering  right  and  left,  to  rescue  ravished 
virgins,  or  redeem  the  holy  sepulchre  from  pagan 
hands. 

All  this,  in  one  sense,  was  very  laughable,  but,  in 
another,  very  salutary,  as  we  never  personified 
other  than  brave,  faithful,  chaste,  and  truthful 
knights,  and  thus  were  led  to  esteem  and  imitate 
the  highest  qualities  of  men.  Our  foes  were  false, 
base,  despicable  miscreants,  represented  by  thorny 
thickets,  deformed  saplings,  and  impudent-looking 
rocks,  which  we  resolutely  charged,  valiantly  hack 
ing  them  with  wooden  swords,  much  to  our  own 
glorification,  but  not  so  much  to  the  satisfaction  of 
our  mothers,  who,  regarding  our  deeds  from  the 
more  vulgar  aspect  of  rent  breeches  and  soiled 
jackets,  considered  that  we  were  decidedly  worsted 
in  these  combats. 

Aunt  Petronia  as  good  as  told  my  mother,  one 
day,  that  she  was  no  better  than  a  heathen  herself 
to  let  me  cherish  such  a  bloody  disposition,  and  tear 
my  clothes  at  this  rate  ;  but  was  at  last  considerably 
mollified,  when  I  explained  that  we  were  good  Chris 
tians  playing  at  converting  sinners,  only  we  had  first 
to  lick  them  well  before  they  would  listen  at  all  to 
our  exhortations.  She  sent  me  immediately  a  bun 
dle  of  "  Calls  to  the  Unconverted,"  "  Miseries  of 
Impenitence,"  and  other  religious  books,  from  which 
to  strengthen  our  minds  with  suitable  persuasions ; 
but  one  of  my  brothers-in-arms  suggesting  that  we 


THE   ANTIDOTE.  51 

might  exchange  them  and  our  dilapidated  Tasso  for 
a  new  and  better  copy,  they  were  devoted  to  that 
purpose  the  very  next  day.  If  my  reader  is  dis 
posed  to  doubt  this,  let  him  go  to  a  famed  antiqua 
rian  bookstore  in  Cornhill,  Boston,  and  inquire  for 
these  very  tracts.  Although  more  than  thirty  years 
have  passed,  he  will  be  sure  to  find  them  in  that 
Golgotha,  still  quietly  slumbering  on  the  shelves 
of  sepulchral  literature,  with  not  even  the  faintest 
perspective  vision  of  a  resurrection. 

To  the  expostulations  of  my  aunt  my  mother 
would  quietly  reply,  "  See  how  strong  and  healthy 
Lanie  is.  He  may  have  a  new  suit  of  clothes 
daily,  if  he  but  continue  so,  and  always  speak  the 
truth,  and  love  me  as  he  does  now.  He  is  a  good 
and  bright  boy,  and  never  hides  anything  from  me.'7 
The  last  was  strictly  true,  even  to  a  love-affair, 
which  began  just  as  we  were  finishing  our  tourna 
ments  for  the  season.  Love  was  a  natural  sequence 
to  chivalry.  My  companions  were  not  inclined  to 
imitate  me  in  this  ;  they  loved  their  sisters  and 
friends'  sisters,  but  only  to  romp  or  dance  with 
them.  I  did  not  confide  my  secret  to  their  unsym- 
pathizing  natures.  One,  who  suspected  my  soft 
ness,  so  wounded  my  feelings  by  his  contempt,  that 
I  ever  after  hated  him.  He  might  have  spared  him 
self  this,  as  it  was  only  an  ideal  love,  though  I  wrote 
ardent  notes  and  replied  to  them  myself,  cherished 
a  locket  supposed  to  contain  a  lock  of  hair,  and 
vowed  to  remain  a  constant  and  devoted  knight. 
My  mother  laughed  so  kindly  at  my  folly,  that  it 
encouraged  me  in  it.  I  can  truly  say  that,  from  the 


52  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

character  with  which  my  imagination  then  invested 
the  sex,  —  based,  doubtless,  though  unknown  to 
myself,  upon  her  virtues,  —  I  held  females  in  pecu 
liar  reverence,  investing  their  natures  with  a  refine 
ment,  purity,  and  capacity  of  bestowing  happiness, 
besides  a  delicacy  of  organization,  far  above  my 
sex ;  so  that,  in  my  thought,  it  was  only  necessary 
to  be  loved  by  one  to  be  supremely  happy.  Indeed, 
I  so  exalted  them  that  I  dared  approach  but  dis 
tantly  their  pedestal.  This  illusion  caused  me  to 
cherish  tender  and  respectful  emotions  towards  the 
sex  in  general,  but  made  me  at  first  modest  and 
diffident  to  a  painful  degree.  Any  occurrence  which 
lowered  my  standard  was  a  humiliation  to  myself. 
When  my  passions,  or  rather  instincts,  began  to 
develop,  and  a  plain-spoken  relative  told  me  women 
felt  like  men,  I  uttered  so  indignant  and  disrespect 
ful  a  reproach  at  Providence  for  thus  marring  his 
best  work,  that  it  was  necessary  to  check  my  silli 
ness  by  physiological  explanations  not  often  given 
to  my  age.  Well !  well !  I  have  grown  wiser  since. 
Alack  ! 

Aunt  Petronia  was  of  no  sex,  to  me.  Her  dress 
was  fashioned  more  after  her  strait  and  angular 
mind  than  any  rules  of  taste.  Her  smile  was  fright 
ful  ;  it  was  like  an  eruption  of  original  sin ;  and 
her  laugh  might  have  been  mistaken  for  a  stifled 
snort.  A  cachinnation  was  strangled,  as  an  unholy 
impulse.  The  ring  of  her  voice  when  excited,  or, 
as  she  expressed  herself,  gently  animated,  was  a  suf 
fering,  to  laugh-loving  ears,  that  is  indescribable. 
For  a  long  while  she  tried  to  persuade  my  mother 


THE   ANTIDOTE.  53 

to  make  me  go  without  sugar  in  my  coffee,  that  I 
might  sacrifice  my  carnal  appetite,  arid  save  the 
money  it  would  cost  to  give  to  the  children  of  mis 
sionaries  in  the  Cannibal  Islands. 

I  have  since  seen  many  missionaries,  but  I  never 
knew  any  who  had  not  plenty  of  good  sugar  for 
their  coffee. 

It  so  happened,  one  day,  when  I  was  but  six 
years  old,  that  my  aunt  met  me  with  my  first  pur 
chase.  It  was  a  book  of  German  fairy  tales,  for 
which  I  had  saved  up  my  money  during  many 
months  back.  She  snatched  it  from  me,  and  threw 
it  into  the  fire,  telling  me  it  was  a  very  wicked 
book,  and  I  was  a  very  naughty  boy  to  love  such 
bad  stories.  All  things  considered,  I  was  not  much 
attached  to  my  aunt. 
5* 


CHAPTER  VII. 

AND   A   NEW   RELATIVE. 

MY  father  was  one  evening  alone  in  the  back  par 
lor,  musing  deeply  upon  a  new  business  project. 
The  door-bell  rang,  but  in  such  moods  he  noticed 
nothing.  It  was  a  dubious  ring,  as  if  the  wire-puller 
felt  not  over-sanguine  as  to  his  welcome.  However, 
the  servant  ushered  in  my  aunt,  and  her  companion, 
the  missionary  gentleman  who  had  given  me,  a  few 
evenings  before,  so  decidedly,  his  opinion  about  the 
personality  of  the  devil.  To  do  him  justice,  his 
demeanor  indicated  the  sincerity  of  his  belief. 
There  was  a  devil  lurking  in  every  laugh,  or  hid  in 
every  flower,  for  him ;  so  he  never  knew  other 
enjoyment  than  to  pray,  preach,  and  walk  in  fear  and 
trembling,  believing  his  own  path,  from  his  uncom 
promising  hostility  to  the  Evil  One,  to  be  particu 
larly  strewn  with  pitfalls.  In  one  respect  he  inva 
riably  cheated  his  adversary,  for  he  ate  abundantly 
and  enjoyed  his  repasts;  but  he  would  have  as 
soon  stroked  Beelzebub's  tail  as  tasted  wine,  or 
gone  to  a  play.  Among  the  savages  he  had  intro 
duced  beet-water  at  communion  in  lieu  of  the  for- 


ILLUSIONS,   AND   A   NEW   RELATIVE.  55 

mer,  and  all  his  mince-pies  were  invariably  seasoned 
with  vinegar. 

The  Rev.  Abinadab  Hardfaith's  —  such  was  his 
name  —  wife  had  died  at  his  station  at  Lilibolu, 
worn  out  by  solitude,  want  of  human  sympathy,  — 
she  had  abundance  of  spiritual,  after  Abinadab's 
fashion,  —  and  rearing  nine  children,  who  all  resem 
bled  their  father.  He  was  now  on  a  visit  home,  to 
raise  funds  for  a  new  and  more  elegant  pulpit,  to 
add  a  new  wing  to  his  comfortable  dwelling,  and 
to  marry  a  new  wife.  Successful  in  every  respect, 
even  in  the  last,  which,  judging  from  his  looks, 
seemed  the  most  hopeless  of  all,  he  had  come  to 
announce  this  fact  to  my  father,  to  beg  from  him, 
and,  in  pursuance  of  the  decision  of  the  prayer- 
circle  at  which  I  was  so  horribly  frightened,  to 
make  a  last  attempt  to  proselyte  him  to  his  cheerful 
faith.  It  was  a  desperate  affair ;  but  two  persons 
better  fitted,  in  their  own  opinions,  to  lead  a  forlorn 
hope  of  this  nature,  never  existed  than  my  aunt  and 
uncle  ! 

Uncle  ?  Not  quite,  but  that  is  soon  to  be.  Yes, 
Abinadab  had  won  Petronia's  hand ;  and  the  fatal 
"  yes/'  which  was  to  take  her  to  live  among  naked 
savages  as  the  wife  of  their  spiritual  teacher  and 
the  mother  of  nine  little  Abinadabs  and  Abinadab- 
esses.,  had  already  been  spoken.  Did  my  aunt  love 
him  ?  Not  a  bit  !  Why,  then,  does  she  marry  him  ? 
Because  she  was  the  victim  of  an  illusion.  What ! 
at  her  age  ?  Yes,  at  her  age.  Illusions  are  special 
providences,  to  give  imaginative  idlers  something  to 
do  and  to  enjoy  for  a  while.  As  one  fails,  another 


56  HEART- EXPERIENCE. 

is  mercifully  provided.  I  would  not  give  up  my 
mental  illusions  for  the  best  dinners  of  a  Yatel. 
They  have  gilded  my  life,  and  made  many  scenes 
and  persons  warm  and  sunny,  which,  without  such 
spectacles  to  view  them  through,  would  have  ap 
peared  as  bitter  and  brown  as  Glauber  salts.  No, 
no  !  Illusions  are  very  sweet  to  me.  They  are  the 
bright  reflections  of  the  good  things  of  eternity; 
down  from  angels'  wings,  dropped  gently  to  earth, 
as  hints  to  men  of  hope  -and  faith  in  a  brighter  des 
tiny  in  store  for  them. 

The  devil  has  his  illusions,  also.  They  are  the 
purges  and  emetics  of  Providence,  to  bring  our 
systems  back  to  healthful  conditions.  I  am  equally 
grateful  for  them.  My  aunt's  illusion  was  a  mixture 
of  both.  Her  stirring,  energetic  nature  required 
an  object  on  which  to  expend  itself.  At  bottom  her 
volitions  were  not  bad.  Unfortunately,  her  head 
had  become  moulded  into  a  bigot's,  and,  although  she 
desired  to  be  useful,  it  was  only  in  accordance  with 
her  catechism,  which  was  as  exclusive  in  spirit  as 
the  topmost  member  of  the  upper  ten  thousand  in 
fashion.  To  all  who  meekly  gave  ear  to  her  exhort 
ations  she  was  a  Lady  Bountiful;  but  she  dis 
charged  the  only  shoemaker  who  could  fit  her  foot, 
because  he  could  not  understand  her  explanation  of 
the  Trinity. 

The  Rev.  Abinadab,  soon  after  his  arrival,  had 
been  passed  round  through  numerous  tea-coteries  of 
his  church,  to  inspect  its  female  members.  There 
was  no  lack  of  volunteers  to  accompany  him  to 
Symmes'  Hole,  or  anywhere  else  his  piety  led  him. 


AND    A   NEW   RELATIVE.  57 

Young  and  rosy  girls,  just  budding  into  a  con 
sciousness  of  the  delights  of  life,  with  happy 
homes,  sisters,  mothers,  brothers,  and  fathers,  who 
dearly  loved  them,  were  eager  to  renounce  all  as 
vanity  and  sinfumess,  and  bestow  themselves  upon 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Ilardfaith,  that  they  might  have  the 
privilege  of  a  slow  martyrdom  of  health  and  mind 
among  the  black  maidens  of  the  antipodes,  whose 
fathers  would  gladly  have  eaten  them  up,  or  con 
verted  them  into  ways  of  bestiality,  as  a  delicate 
return  for  their  disinterestedness.  An  unselfish 
enthusiasm  is  a  glorious  impulse  —  far  be  it  from 
me  to  speak  lightly  of  it !  —  but  when  youth  is  most 
sanguine  it  should  be  most  cautious,  because  it  is 
most  ignorant.  Young  ladies  of  fifteen,  however 
pious,  are  not  the  best  stuff  for  missionaries  among 
tawny,  breechless,  frockless,  and  godless  men  and 
women.  The  reverend  Ccelebs  knew  tjiis,  and  wisely 
overlooked  their  claims.  His  first  wife  had  been  of 
this  sort.  She  had  drooped  from  the  first,  like  a 
weeping  willow  transplanted  to  a  desert.  Fitted  by 
nature  and  accomplishments  to  grace  only  civilized 
life,  hers  at  Lilibolu  had  been  as  useless  to  others 
and  barren  to  herself  as  water  upon  sand.  Body  and 
mind  both  withered  under  such  an  ordeal.  Her  hus 
band  saw  her  fade  away  daily ;  but,  as  she  dutifully 
administered,  as  well  as  her  strength  permitted,  to  his 
wants,  and  bore  him  children  with  patriarchal  rapid 
ity,  he  looked  stoically  on,  called  her  slow  passing 
away  the  will  of  God,  and  fancying  himself  still  more 
saintly  by  prescribing  resignation  to  her  doom.  She 
died,  not  of  a  broken  heart,  but  of  a  misapplied  life. 


58  HEART -EXPERIENCE. 

In  his  present  search  the  missionary  looked  for  a 
help-meet.  The  orthodoxy,  good  house-keeping, 
and  excellent  bread  and  butter,  of  Aunt  Petronia, 
had  made  an  early  impression  upon  him.  When  he 
ascertained  that  she  was  not  without  resources,  and 
was  sister  to  a  wealthy  merchant,  his  love  rose  at 
once  to  the  popping  point ;  but  he  was  too  sagacious 
to  pop  the  question  point  blank,  and  run  the  risk  of 
a  scandalous  discomfiture.  He  laid  siege  by  grad 
ually  firing  my  aunt's  imagination  with  the  superior 
degree  of  holiness  a  missionary's  life  presented ; 
the  more  perfect  separation  from  the  sinful  wTorld, 
and  the  wide  field  of  usefulness  opened  to  a  superior 
mind —  Uke  hers,  she  thought,  and  bit  at  the  bait. 
I  will  not  call  it  religious  vanity,  but  vast  visions  of 
future  good  excited  her  intellect  —  souls  saved  and 
bodies  purified  and  made  decent  through  her  instru 
mentality.  She  reflected.  The  tempter  took  his 
hat,  bade  her  be  prudent  of  her  precious  health, 
which  was  dear  to  the  church,  and  went  out  to  see 
how  the  new  pulpit  got  along.  A  few  days  after,  he 
strolled  in  again.  This  time  he  described  his  field 
of  labor ;  so  far  as  climate  and  scenery  went,  it  was 
a  terrestrial  paradise,  —  never  very  hot  nor  cold,  — 
a  lovely  valley  opening  up  to  verdant  mountains, 
from  which  ran  sparkling  streams  of  the  purest 
water ;  cascades,  palm-trees,  a  profusion  of  flowers, 
sun-shaded  groves,  melodious  birds ;  a  fruit  and 
vegetable  garden,  in  excellent  order;  the  largest 
grape-vine  in  the  world,  —  beating,  by  some  square 
rods,  the  monster  of  Hampton  Court ;  a  two-story 
stone  house,  facing  the  sea,  furnished  plainly,  but 


ILLUSIONS,   AND   A  NEW  EELATIVE.  59 

lacking  nothing  ;  saddle-horses,  and  relays  of  natives 
for  palanquins;  a  devoted  flock,  who  cheerfully 
furnished  fish,  fruit,  and  poultry,  to  their  pastor  j  and 
then  that  good  man,  the  chief  Nirnbopimbo,  who, 
from  eating  babies  and  the  tit-bits  of  women's  thighs' 
had  become  a  devoted  Christian,  giving  up  every 
thing,  including  some  of  his  best  lands,  and  even 
in  public  repudiating  his  numerous  wives,  one  of 
whom  being  his  own  sister— and  much  more,  at  the 
dictation  of  his  spiritual  teacher.  All  this  wonder 
fully  confirmed  my  aunt  in  her  nascent  passion. 

The  gay  deceiver !  He  omitted  to  catalogue  the 
fleas  and  centipedes,  the  itch  and  elephantiasis,  the 
dirty  familiarities,  the  fierce  passions,  and  the  exceed 
ing  hypocrisy,  of  his  neophytes  in  general.  He  forgot 
even  to  mention  the  nine  little  ones  of  his  household. 
Why  should  he  ?  Cupid  and  Mammon,  tell  me  why  ! 

In  the  third  interview  he  asked  Pqtronia  to  share 
his  labors  and  home.  Now,  the  most  impenetrable 
of  her  sex  feels  a  flutter  somewhere,  at  such  a 
question,  from  the  most  indifferent  of  men.  My 
aunt  did  •  but  she  had  prayed  in  public  too  often  not 
to  have  acquired  perfect  self-control.  "Sir,"  said 
she,  with  dignity,  "  did  such  a  proposal  come  from  a 
man  of  the  world,  it  would  require  no  effort  for  me 
to  say  no;  but  from  you,77 --here  she  paused  a 
second,  cast  her  eyes  down,  and  put  on  a  slight 
flutter,  and  then,  recovering  herself,  proceeded 
coldly  to  say,  "  while  I  consent  to  accept  you  as  a 
husband,  it  is  upon  the  condition  that  I  am  a  mis 
sionary  wife,  and  not  a  wife  of  a  missionary.  Under 
stand  that  it  is  not  the  man,  but  the  missionary,  I 


60  HEART- EXPERIENCE. 

marry,  that  I  may  be  one  with  him  in  his  high  call 
ing."     So  saying,  she  bowed  him  out. 

The  Rev.  Abinadab  smiled  grimly  as  he  closed  the 
door,  probably  not  appreciating  the  saving  clause 
of  my  modest  aunt.  Her  illusion  in  this  respect 
became,  in  after  life,  a  fruitful  theme  of  discussion, 
which  made  Abinadab's  second  career  as  a  husband 
less  tame  than  his  first.  But  I  am  not  called  upon 
to  confess  for  him  more  than  the  general  fact.  In 
the  mean  while,  I  beg  pardon  of  my  father  for  keep 
ing  him  waiting  all  this  time.  Bless  you,  dear  reader, 
while  you  know  all  this,  he  is  as  ignorant  of  it  as  an 
unborn  babe ! 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

HOW  MY  AUNT  UNDERTAKES  A  FORLORN  HOPE. 

Now,  my  aunt  wanted  first  to  let  her  brother  know 
that  she  was  engaged.  This  would  both  astonish,  and, 
coupled  with  her  prospective  home  twenty  thousand 
miles  off,  please  him.  Secondly,  she  wanted  her  rev 
erend  companion,  if  possible,  to  convert  him  before 
she  went ;  and  thirdly,  both  wanted  of  him  something 
handsome  for  their  mission.  To  demand  a  surprise, 
a  smile,  a  change  of  heart,  and  a  liberal  contribution, 
all  of  my  father,  in  one  interview,  was  no  joke.  As 
he  sat  in  his  chair,  with  furrowed  brow  and  com 
pressed  lips,  sternly  regarding  the  carpet,  while  men 
tally  computing  the  cost  and  probable  receipts  of  a 
projected  railroad,  my  aunt's  knees  grew  slightly 
weak,  and  for  once  she  felt  nervous. 

Like  all  cowards,  she  determined  upon  a  surprise. 
Before  he  lifted  up  his  eyes,  she  began,  "  My  broth 
er,  Mr.  Hardfaith  — the   Rev.  Abinadab  Hardfaith, 
D.D.  —  Mr.  Robert  Bullion,  Director  of  the  Oregon 
Railway,  President  of  the  Mammoth  Bank,  &c.  &c." 
Mr.  Robert  Bullion  looked  up,  vexed  and  surprised. 
Had  he  been  told  that  his  pet  clipper,  Lightning,  had 
been  beaten  on  her  voyage  between  Shanghae  and 
6 


62  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

London,  he  could  not  have  been  more  astonished  than 
when  his  sister  added,  "Mr.  Hardfaith  will  soon  have 
the  honor  to  be  your  brother-in-law,  and  the  happiness 
to  be  my  husband.  We  are  engaged  to  be  married." 

"Engaged  to  what  —  the  devil  —  are  you  mad?" 
But,  seeing  Mr.  Hardfaith's  surprise  in  his  turn,  my 
father  recovered  his  usual  self-possession,  and  add 
ed,  "  Pray  be  seated,  sir.  What  is  your  business 
with  me,  Petronia?" 

My  aunt's  mettle  was  now  aroused  for  the  credit  of 
her  choice.  So  she  boldly  and  clearly  told  him  that 
she  was  going  to  be  united,  shortly,  in  the  bonds  of 
holy  matrimony,  to  the  eminent  missionary  present, 
and  had  brought  him  to  pay  his  respects  to  her 
brother;  and  that  they  would  embark,  that  day 
month,  for  Lilibolu,  &c.  <fec. 

At  this  last  news  my  father  actually  smiled.  He 
even  rose  and  shook  hands  cordially  with  Abinadab, 
and  said,  "  Well  done,  sister — this  is  a  surprise  !  I 
should  never  have  suspected  you  of  this  change  of 
heart," 

This  was  an  unfortunate  pleasantry  for  my  father. 
It  let  the  enemy  at  once  into  his  outworks,  and  they 
were  not  slow  to  avail  themselves  of  the  opening. 

"  Ah,  brother  Robert,  that  is  just  what  we  wish 
to  see  in  you !  Could  I  know,  before  I  leave  the 
country,  that  you  have  experienced  religion,  I  should 
leave  no  regrets  behind.  Mr.  Hardfaith  and  myself 
labor  for  you  daily  and  nightly.  Why  will  you  not 
second  our  efforts,  and  join  the  church,  whose  arms 
open  so  lovingly  to  embrace  you?" 

"  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  do  anything  else  for  you, 


HOW   MY  AUNT   UNDERTAKES  A  FORLORN   HOPE.      63 

sister,  but  at  present  this  is  quite  out  of  my  power. 
My  numerous  engagements  prevent  my  entertaining 
any  new  project,"  replied  my  father,  somewhat  con 
fusedly,  1  must  confess,  when  we  consider  the  nature 
of  the  appeal.  But  he  was  a  wag  in  his  own  way, 
and  there  is  no  telling  what  covert  wickedness  he 
had  in  view. 

Here  the  reverend  champion  interposed.  "  Sir/' 
said  he,  with  the  solemnity  of  voice  natural  to  him, 
"  this  light  manner  of  treating  so  serious  a  subject  will 
not  save  your  soul.  Your  position  and  wealth  make 
your  responsibilities  all  the  heavier.  Repent,  at 
once,  if  you  wish  to  escape  the  fate  of  Dives.  As 
an  ambassador  of  heaven,  I  warn  you  to  flee  from— 
But  respect  for  the  motive  prevents  me  from  giving 
the  whole  of  the  reverend  gentleman's  harangue.  It 
was  a  rousing  appeal ;  before  his  savage  congrega 
tion  it  would  have  had  a  prodigious  effect,  in  fright 
ening  them,  for  a  few  hours,  from  the  error  of  their 
ways.  Indeed,  its  terrific  eloquence  was  particu 
larly  calculated  to  disturb  the  hardness  of  heart  of 
any  one  who  had  never  reflected  upon  the  subject. 
Mr.  Hardfaith  was  a  powerful  preacher.  He  had 
formerly  been  a  blacksmith.  His  clerical  denunci 
ations  fell  upon  sinners  like  blows  upon  an  anvil. 
I  have  noticed  that  such  preachers  make  the  sparks 
fly  famously  while  they  hammer  away  at  hot  iron ; 
but  it  speedily  cools,  and  comes  to  a  greater  black 
ness  than  ever.  . 

My  father's  first  impulse  was  to  show  him  the 
door.  His  next  was  disgust.  Finally,  he  concluded 
to  let  the  speaker  exhaust  himself,  while  he  continued 


64  HEART- EXPERIENCE. 

his  silent  calculations  upon  the  railroad.  One 
would  suppose  this  a  difficult  mental  effort  under 
the  circumstances,  but  I  appeal  to  the  whole  body 
of  mercantile  church-goers  to  know  if  it  be  so.  He 
was  so  far  successful,  that  he  was  aroused  from  his 
work  only  by  the  cessation  of  Abinadab's  voice. 
The  sudden  silence  startled  him  much  more  than  his 
noisy  appeal  to  his  fears. 

My  father  politely  begged  him  to  go  on,  if  he  had 
anything  further  to  say,  intending  to  resume  his  cal 
culations,  which  had  been  interrupted  just  as  he  had 
arrived  at  the  receipts.  This  was  praiseworthy  in 
him,  when  we  consider  the  brief  but  forcible  extin 
guisher  one  of  the  Rothschilds  clapped  upon  the 
hopes  of  a  simple-minded  clergyman  who  had  gone 
all  the  way  from  Ohio  to  Europe  to  move  him  to 
buy  the  Holy  Land  of  the  Sultan  and  reestablish 
the  Jews.  The  sole  reply  he  got  from  the  money- 
king  to  his  eloquent  appeal  was  "D — n  Jerusalem ! " 

The  Rev.  Abinadab  Hardfaith  did  go  on,  seduced 
by  my  father's  manner  into  a  belief  that  his  elo 
quence  was  having  a  searching  effect.  This  time, 
however,  perhaps  unconsciously,  he  gradually  led 
the  way  to  the  final  object  of  his  visit;  spoke  of 
the  awful  responsibility  of  wealth ;  the  urgent  wants 
of  the  elect;  the  particular  call  his  far-off  parish  had 
at  that  juncture  for  pecuniary  assistance,  especially 
as  several  of  his  church-members,  so  recently  canni 
bals,  had  volunteered  to  go  on  a  mission  to  convert 
another  savage  tribe,  still  given  to  polygamy,  fighting, 
and  all  the  vices  of  idolatry,  if  the  necessary  funds 
could  be  raised;  and  then  he  stopped, putting  on  hia 


HOW  MY  AUNT  UNDERTAKES  A  FORLORN  HOPE.   65 

best  contribution-look,  as  if  he  were  himself  pass 
ing  the  box  through  the  aisles  of  the  softest  and 
richest  of  his  sect's  meeting-houses. 

This  time  my  father  looked  promptly  and  intelli 
gently  up.  "I  understand  you  now/7  he  said;  "not 
but  that  I  think  your  preaching  very  efficacious  for 
wild  heathens,  who,  to  behave  decently  at  all,  must 
be  bullied  into  it.  Excuse  me  for  telling  you,  frank 
ly,  it  will  never  convert  a  white  soul.  Each  man  to 
his  calling.  You  to  your  cannibals,  I  to  my  ships. 
If  the  world  can  do  without  us,  we  cannot  do  with 
out  the  world,  were  it  ten  times  as  wicked  as  you 
call  it.  At  whatever  risk  to  my  future  prospects,  I 
cannot  accept  your  views ;  but  I  thank  you  all  the 
same.  I  encourage  foreign  missions,  not  so  much 
because  they  christianize  savages,  as  that  they  ex 
tend  our  commercial  influence.  They  enlarge  our 
markets.  Here," — handing  a  check  for  five  hun 
dred  dollars,  — "  appropriate  this  as  you  like  best. 
In  ten  minutes  I  must  be  at  a  meeting  of  gas- 
directors.  Good-by,  sister.  My  respects  to  you, 
sir ;  may  you  add  many  to  your  flock,  —  there,  I  mean, 
not  here.  Good-day;"  and  my  father  began  bowing 
them  out.  They  had  reached  the  steps,  when  a  sud 
den  thought  struck  him.  "Petronia,"  he  called,  "it 
just  occurs  to  me  that  I  have  a  whale-ship  going  on 
a  cruise  shortly  in  the  neighborhood  of  Lilibolu.  If 
it  would  suit  you  and  the  Rev.  Dab  — I  beg  pardon, 
his  name  has  escaped  me  — to  go  out  in  her,  you  are 
heartily  welcome.  The  captain  has  a  great  reputa 
tion  for  piety,  and  won't  fish  on  Sundays.  By  the 
way,  should  you,  sir,  see  any  prospect  for  new  trade 
6* 


66  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

in  your  quarter,  do  me  the  favor  to  let  me  hear  from 
you.  Good-by,  again;  and,  sister,77  whispered  he 
to  her,  as  she  passed  him,  "you  have  a  chosen  ves 
sel  in  your  future  husband.  Keep  him  well  filled 
with  good  things;  that  is  my  advice;  and,  should  you 
ever  have  need  of  a  silver  porringer — hem ! — you  un 
derstand.77  Here  she — did  not  redden  —  but  turned 
ferociously  upon  him,  and  told  him  to  mind  his 
own  business,  as  she  vigorously  slammed  the  door 
to,  leaving  her  future  spouse  somewhat  mystified 
at  such  a  seemingly  uncalled  for  return  to  the  hand 
some  check  he  had  just  received.  I  doubt  if  she 
ever  explained  to  him  the  cause  of  her  anger. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

IN  THE   COUNTRY,   THANK   GOD! 

AMONG  your  youthful  enjoyments,  can  you  recall, 
dear  friend, — for  I  trust  that  by  this  time  my  reader 
has  become  my  friend, — any  one  the  memory  of 
which  lingers  still  around  you  with  the  zest  of  a 
first  joyful  experience  ?  Nay,  more.  That  which 
then  was  an  instinctive  pleasure,  has  it  not  grown 
with  your  length  of  days,  and  expanded  with  your 
thought ;  its  symbols,  which  you  first  admired  for 
their  beauty  and  harmony,  have  they  not  since 
become  an  intelligible  language,  speaking  to  you 
from  a  thousand  tongues  praise,  peace,  and  faith? 
If  you  cannot,  my  friend,  I  pity  you.  I  can. 

My  first  real  experience  of  the  country  was  when 
I  was  about  eight  years  old.  Previous  to  that,  ugly 
brick  houses  had  always  marred  and  reddened  my 
horizon,  and  confined  my  thoughts  more  to  their  in 
teriors  than  they  invited  them  to  what  was  outside. 
What  a  strange  idea  of  God's  world  must  a  strictly 
cockney  life  give !  Tiled  and  slated  roofs,  a  chaos 
of  heights  and  depths,  right  and  acute  angles,  from 
out  of  which  stiffly  stand  myriads  of  spectral  spires 
and  gaunt  chimneys,  ejecting  columns  of  grimy 


68  HEART-EXPEKIENCE. 

smoke,  that  melt  into  one  common  canopy,  and, 
shutting  off  the  sight  from  the  clear  sky,  press  down 
ward  upon  the  city  like  a  horrible  pall !  Down  below 
are  hard  pavements  and  stony  hearts ;  a  confused 
roar  of  human  speech,  and  mob  of  hideous  hats  and 
gay  ribbons ;  laughter  and  wailing ;  virtue  and 
crime  ;  the  publican's  prayer  and  flaunting  sin ;  a 
never-ending  turmoil  of  humanity,  bewildering  the 
eye,  and  flaunting  in  gold  or  cowed  in  rags.  The 
town  is  a  hallelujah  set  to  a  shriek.  Portentous  voices, 
as  at  the  siege  of  Jerusalem,  are  ever  uttering,  Woe, 
woe  to  all  —  woe  to  ourselves  —  live  and  doubt  — 
despair  and  die !  But  the  good  angel  sees  bright  spots 
of  charity,  and  hears  sweet  notes  of  love,  living  wit 
nesses  of  faith,  hope,  and  truth,  in  electrical  currents, 
leavening  the  rough  loaf  of  human  life.  The  devil's 
grin  fears  to  face  the  melody  of  David's  harp. 

A  bit  of  nature's  green  —  how  delightful !  That 
solitary  flower,  cherished  so  lovingly,  at  yonder  dis 
mal  window,  on  which  the  setting  sun  pours  a  soli 
tary  ray  of  golden  light — how  welcome  !  The  soul 
hungers  and  thirsts  after  nature's  beauty.  It  is  its 
aliment  of  life  —  the  rainbow  sign  of  divinity.  In 
the  city  we  worship  trees.  Feeble  hints,  the  best 
of  them,  of  nature's  wondrous  world,  thus  hidden 
by  streets  from  our  view ;  but,  like  adopted  found 
lings,  we  cherish  them  the  more. 

It  was  a  dark  night  when  I  arrived  at  my  country 
home,  so  that  when  I  awoke,  at  early  sunrise,  it  was 
like  the  sudden  drawing  aside  of  a  curtain  from  a 
lovely  picture.  Birds  were  singing  about  my  win 
dow.  From  the  freshly-mowed  lawn  there  arose 


IN  THE  COUNTRY,  THANK  GOD  !         69 

the  sweetest  of  odors.  Flowers  and  fruits  mingled 
their  fragrance  with  them,  and  bewitched  the  earth 
with  their  rich  colors.  The  cattle  were  going  out 
to  their  pastures,  tinkling  their  bells,  and  incens 
ing  the  atmosphere  with  their  breaths.  Bare-footed 
boys  ran  laughingly  after  them,  making  the  air  mer 
ry  with  their  cow-talk.  Every  leaf  held  a  dew-dia 
mond,  for  fairies  in  their  over-night  dance  had  left 
their  jewels  behind  them.  Warmer  and  brighter 
grew  the  sun  each  minute ;  but  it  enlivened  and 
gilded  the  landscape,  and  made  the  earth  rejoice 
that  God's  eye  rested  upon  it. 

Such  was  my  impatience  to  enter  upon  this  scene, 
that  it  was  an  effort  to  spare  time  to  dress  myself. 
I  ran,  I  shouted,  I  jumped,  I  sported  ;  peering  here 
and  there,  and  everywhere,  into  this  new  world. 
The  mysteries  of  the  farm  had  more  fascination  for 
me  than  since  have  had  the  arcana  of  the  Talmud 
or  the  revelations  of  the  Kabbala.  Barn,  hen-house, 
and  granary,  soon  ceased  to  hold  any  secrets.  If 
one  rejoice  as  much  upon  entering  the  new  life  be 
yond  the  grave  as  I  did  this  beyond  the  city,  —  (and 
why  not  ?)  —  death  is  indeed  a  friendly  revelation. 

Alone  or  with  society,  I  was  ever  content  to  be 
out  in  the  open  air,  breathing  a  new  life  at  each 
new  sensation.  God  has,  indeed,  given  man  a  beau 
tiful  world.  Not,  indeed,  the  best,  by  many  grada 
tions  ;  but  the  best  his  physical  nature  is  able  to 
enjoy.  To  ask  for  more  on  earth,  while  so  much  yet 
remains  to  be  seen,  known,  and  appreciated,  would 
be  to  profane  the  laws  of  matter.  True,  there  are 
two  sides  to  every  object.  Every  peach  contains  a 


70  HEART -EXPERIENCE. 

belly-ache,  and  each  haunch  of  venison  a  fit  of  gout ; 
an  imp  or  a  cherub  lies  dormant  in  every  mamma's 
"precious  darling/' — Judas  or  Jesus,  as  may  be  ;  but 
it  is  abuse,  not  use,  that  develops  the  poison.  Know 
thyself — know  nature — find  out  your  relations  to 
each  other;  establish  the  moral  and  animal  equilib 
rium,  and  this  world  is  not  without  its  paradise. 

At  all  events,  I  was  very  healthy  and  happy  in  my 
new  existence.  Nature  was  pleased  with  my  sympa 
thy,  and  treated  me  as  a  friend.  My  father  was  away ; 
my  mother  had  no  foolish  fears  about  my  safety,  but 
permitted  me  to  go  where  and  do  what  I  pleased. 
This  was,  perhaps,  too  great  latitude  ;  but  it  devel 
oped  my  strength  and  courage,  and,  I  may  say,  knowl 
edge.  I  obeyed  my  own  inclinations.  From  farm 
ing, —  that  is  to  say,  finding  hen's  nests,  climbing 
the  loftiest  trees,  and  swaying  on  boughs,  which,  as 
I  now  recall  their  diameter,  give  me  an  involuntary 
shudder,  tumbling  over  the  hay-cocks,  and  plucking 
the  finest  fruit  and  flowers  for  my  mother, — I  longed 
for  more  adventurous  exploits. 

There  was  a  tribe  of  Indians  not  far  off.  To  lead 
the  free  life  of  a  son  of  the  forest,  appeared  to  me 
the  summit  of  human  happiness.  Those  quaint  old 
plates  of  De  Bry,  of  the  life  and  customs  of  the 
American  aborigines,  had  often  fascinated  me.  My 
sympathies  were  early  aroused  for  the  red  men.  For 
years  I  read  and  collected  everything  I  could  lay 
hands  upon  relating  to  their  history.  In  short,  in 
feeling  I  was  more  an  Indian  than  a  pale-face.  I  spent 
days  in  hunting  over  solitary  fields  and  hills,  re 
puted  sites  of  their  extinguished  council-fires,  to  find 


IN  THE  COUNTRY,  THANK  GOD !         71 

broken  arrow-heads,  or  any  other  relic  of  their  ex 
istence.  If,  by  chance,  success  rewarded  my  efforts, 
— and  it  often  did, — I  called  upon  all  my  neighbors 
to  rejoice  with  me.  My  mother,  of  course,  shared 
my  emotions. 

What  a  strange  tramp  my  curiosity  and  illusions 
led  her,  before  we  were  parted !  Wherever  my  mind 
went,  hers  followed.  How  wearisome  had  it  become, 
had  I  been  forced  to  study  all  that  my  inclinations, 
left  free,  voluntarily  sought!  Will  would  have  re 
volted,  while  liberty  prompted  me  to  labor  all  the 
more.  Greek,  and  Latin,  and  Mathematics,  I  learned 
at  school  by  the  usual  routine,  and  forgot  them 
after  the  necessity  of  reciting  them  had  passed. 
But  of  the  'ologies  of  my  own  choice  I  was  enam 
ored.  Corichology  was  my  first  pet.  Then  came  Ge 
ology,  Phrenology,  Numismatics,  Bibliomania,  The 
ology,  Chemistry,  until  I  blew  myself  up  with  hy 
drogen  gas,  Anatomy,  and  Antiquities  of  all  kinds. 
Indeed,  with  many  other  fancies,  equally  strangely 
assorted,  I  was  inoculated  before  I  was  far  into  my 
teens. 

This  medley  of  pursuits  proves  my  curiosity  and 
versatility,  not  of  talent,  but  desire  to  know  every 
thing,  by  which  I  have  come  well-nigh  to  know 
nothing.  My  memory  still  retains,  it  is  true,  many 
interesting  facts,  amid  all  this  lumber;  and,  although 
at  that  age  my  mind  was  chiefly  disposed  to  seek 
after  the  mere  husks  of  knowledge,  yet  I  find,  even 
now,  much  that  I  then  acquired  has  a  value  little 
anticipated  at  the  time  I  was  so  eagerly  gleaning 
the  fields  of  science  and  literature.  I  even  tried 


72  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

music  and  poetry.  But  the  emphatic  manner  in 
which  my  father  bade  me  stop  iny  noise  —  my 
mother  the  while  patiently  listening  —  speedily  dis 
couraged  me  as  to  the  former ;  and  as  for  the  latter, 
my  muse  was  so  much  upon  a  par  with  my  music 
that  no  editor's  ear  could  be  persuaded  into  giving 
her  a  hearing.  Thus  a  merciful  Providence,  in  the 
shape  of  a  sensible,  unsympathetic  father,  interfered 
to  prevent  my  vanity  and  ambition  from  outraging 
all  common  sense.  Nevertheless,  I  would  say  to 
any  young  person,  not  bent  upon  success  in  some 
one  branch  of  learning,  do  just  as  I  did.  Pluck 
whatever  your  intellect  craves  as  you  go  on.  Give 
it  variety.  Nothing  is  lost ;  and  I  do  assure  you 
that  often,  in  after  life,  I  have  derived  much  addi 
tional  happiness,  in  my  varied  experiences,  from 
these  irregular  studies  of  my  childhood.  No  one, 
either,  was  more  regular  than  myself  at  school,  or 
better  prepared  for  its  lessons.  I  mention  these 
traits,  not  in  self-praise,  for  they  have  also  their  dis 
advantages,  but  to  show  the  possibility  of  learning 
much  out  of  the  common  routine  of  education,  and 
yet,  as  I  did,  find  ample  time  for  exercise. 

This  erratic  habit  of  bolting  and  changing  ideas, 
as  you  perceive,  still  cleaves  to  me.  My  pen  is  like 
an  unbitted  horse,  that  takes  me,  at  his  will,  wherever 
the  mood  inspires  him.  Several  times  have  I  sought 
to  introduce  something  like  system  into  these  con 
fessions ;  but  my  horse  plunges  and  prances  so, — 
now  running  helter-skelter  through  brush  and  over 
rocks,  —  now  quietly  nibbling  the  young  grass  at 
the  road-side,  leaping  ditches  and  clearing  walls, 


IN  THE  COUNTRY,  THANK  GOD  !        73 

drinking  from  each  limpid  brook  he  finds,  or  fright- 
ened  at  peaceable  shadows,  —  that  an  orthodox, 
straight-forward  trot  is  wholly  out  of  the  question. 
I  warn  you,  sympathizing  friend,  that  I  know  as 
little  of  the  intentions  of  my  steed,  from  day  to  day, 
as  you  do.  In  times  past,  it  has  been  a  docile  creat 
ure ;  now,  its  habits  are  all  changed.  If  such  a 
ride  fatigue  or  alarm  you,  dismount  now,  for  I 
have  a  presentiment  that  forewarns  me  of  many 
break-neck  jumps  and  furious  gallops.  Mayhap  he 
may  throw  me.  If  so,  you  will  be  in  at  the  final  — 
laugh. 

Where  was  I  going  when  he  ran  with  me  last? 

0  !  I  recollect  —  to  be  an  Indian.     How  often  have 

1  gone  through  with  Church's  Indian  wars,  and  other 
chronicles  of  that  heroic  soul,  King  Philip  of  Mount 
Hope,  counting  up  the  slain  and  captives  in  his  fights 
and  surprises,  hoping  to  find  that  he  had  at  least 
balanced  his  wrongs  in  the  blood  of  my  ancestors ! 
This  is  a  curious  confession,  but  it  is  a  true  one.  The 
wood-craft  and  free  quarters  of  forest-life,  the  pursuit 
of  game,  the  close  communion  with  mother  nature, 
the  childlike  dependence  upon  the  "  Great  Spirit" 
of  the  tameless  savage,  won  my  young  imagination. 
Contrasted  with  that  freedom  were  the  stern  policy, 
austere  habits,  harsh  faith,  and  dreary  sermons,  of  my 
Pilgrim  Fathers.     They  were  my  fathers,  blood  and 
bone,  and  I  respected  their  virtues  ;  but,  at  that  age, 
all  my  sympathies  flowed  towards  the  wild,  cheated, 
hunted,  and  enslaved  Indian,  whose  inexpiable  sin 
was,  that  God  had  not  created  him  to  become  a  fre 
quenter  of  meeting-houses,  and  an  endorser  of  the 

7 


74  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

Cambridge  Platform.  As  soon,  therefore,  as  I  found 
myself  in  the  neighborhood  of  veritable  Indians,  my 
first  impulse  was  to  join  them. 

"  What !  leave  your  mother  !  " 

Pshaw  !  how  you  have  forgotten  your  childhood ! 
Do  not  you  know  that  with  the  young  and  old  an 
illusion  befools  both  heart  and  mind?  In  its  fog- 
light  nothing  else  is  seen  but  the  loom  of  desire. 
No  doubt,  experience  would  have  soon  driven 
me  home,  a  more  loving  son  than  ever ;  but  that 
experience,  and  all  others,  must  be  born  of  life's 
fevers. 

One  morning,  bright  and  early,  I  ran  away ;  not 
alone,  for  I  had  enticed  a  pliable  companion  to  go 
with  me.  I  knew  the  direction  of  the  tribe,  and 
boldly  pushed  for  the  woods,  which  would  take  us 
to  their  camp.  We  got  on  famously,  never  once 
foot-weary  or  hungry,  though  travelling  rapidly  the 
entire  morning.  Sedate  old  chiefs,  around  their 
council-fires,  instructing  youthful  warriors  in  the 
wisdom  of  their  race  ;  war-dances,  the  startling  war- 
whoop;  the  twanging  bow,  now  firing  at  a  mark,  now 
at  game  ;  bright-eyed,  dark-skinned  maidens,  grinding 
corn  and  preparing  food ;  the  rustic  lodges  amid  a 
primeval  forest ;  the  torch-light  hunt  for  fishes,  wad 
ing  streams  or  flying  over  their  surface  in  the  birch 
canoe,  and  like  picturesque  pictures  of  the  red 
man's  life,  filled  our  heads  with  visions  of  wild  de 
light. 

Thirty  years  later,  I  became  acquainted  with  a 
cultivated  and  accomplished  woman,  who  told  me 
that,  when  about  eight  years  of  age,  she  lived  a 


IN  THE  COUNTRY,  THANK  GOD  !         75 

year  with  a  wandering  tribe,  away  from  the  whites 
altogether.  As  soon  as  the  Indians  took  her,  they 
stripped  her  of  her  frocks,  and  clothed  her  as  one 
of  their  own  children,  leaving  her  legs  and  breast 
bare.  She  soon  became  fascinated  with  her  life. 
The  warriors  trotted  her  about  on  their  backs ;  the 
women  instructed  her  in  their  simple  arts ;  she  trav 
elled  along  the  great  lakes  with  them,  frolicking,  ber 
rying,  as  wild  as  a  fawn,  and  the  pet  of  all.  Amid  all 
her  subsequent  experience,  she  never  looked  back 
upon  this  life  without  a  thrill  of  pleasure. 

My  adventure  was  not  so  fortunate.      By  noon 
we  arrived  at  the  camp;  —  no,  it  was  a  settlement 
of    Quaker-looking  one-story-and-a-half  houses,  un- 
painted,  amid  famine-like-looking  potato-patches,  and 
starved  corn-fields.     Groups  of  miserable,  stunted 
pines  made  up  the  forest.     Instead  of  deer  and  wild 
ducks,  there  were  mangy  curs  and1  cackling  hens. 
The  interiors  of  the  houses  were  not  untidy,  but 
crockery  and   cotton  in  connection  with  red  men 
and  women   were  an  utter   abomination  unto  me. 
They  wore  petticoats  and  hats,  and  had  no  more  idea 
of  fur  aprons  and  feather  head-pieces  than  my  old 
nurse  Hepzibah.     God  bless  us  !     They  were  civil 
ized  Indians,  emasculated  of  all  forest  virtues,  and 
loving  the  vices  and  rum  of  the  pale-face.      We 
had  run  away  from  home  to  join  them,  which  was 
about  as  sensible  as  to  have  left  our  snug  bed-rooms 
to  have  slept  in  the  pig-sty.     However,  I  told  them 
all  about  our  plans.     They  laughed,  and  showed  me 
the  stump  of  a  tree   said  to  have   once   sheltered 
King  Philip,  when  in  these  parts.     As  I  never  once 


76  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

questioned  its  authenticity,  this  was  as  sacred  a  relic 
to  me  as  is  the  girdle  of  the  virgin  to  the  dwellers 
of  Prato.  Moreover,  they  gave  us  to  eat,  presented 
me  with  the  last  and  much-worn  copy  of  Elliot's 
Indian  Bible  they  possessed,  and  finally  took  us 
homeward  in  the  deacon's  one-horse  wagon.  It 
was  high  time  they  did,  for  our  poor  mothers,  dis 
tracted  at  our  absence,  were  just  organizing  a  gen 
eral  battue  to  hunt  us  up. 


CHAPTER    X. 

A  SPORTSMAN'S  —  i  MEAN  BOY'S  —  LOGIC. 

THE  result  of  my  Indian  foray  did  not  in  the  least 
quench  my  thirst  for  out-door  life.  As  soon  as  I 
could  handle  them,  guns,  fishing-rods,  cod-lines,  and 
eel-spears,  with  an  unlimited  credit  for  powder  and 
shot  at  the  village  shop,  were  given  me.  To  them 
were  added  horses,  dogs,  and  boats.  No  lad  had  less 
surveillance  than  I.  Long  before  dawn  I  was  off 
shooting  or  fishing.  Many  a  day,  —  by  the  time  I 
was  twelve  or  thirteen  years  old,  —  have  I  trav 
elled,  on  foot,  twenty  to  thirty  miles,  or  more,  with 
my  heavy  double-barrelled  gun,  ammunition,  and 
game. 

Alone,  I  enjoyed  it  ah1  the  same,  particularly  if  in  a 
boat.  Then  the  sky  and  water  seemed  to  be  spe 
cially  made  for  me.  And  has  not  God  made  them  for 
each  one  of  his  children  —  each  day  a  renewal  of 
his  bounty  ?  They  spoke  to  me  a  language  I  well 
understood.  Silently  I  drank  in  their  inspiration, 
and  loved  them ;  and  the  hills  I  rambled  over,  the 
trees  that  shaded  me,  the  streams  I  swam  in,  those 
rocky  little  islets  on  that  picturesque  lake,  from 
which  I  at  times  startled  the  timid  deer,  shot  at  the 
7* 


78  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

bald-headed  eagle,  cooked  my  game  upon  its  banks, 
or  dove  to  the  bottom  to  fish  up  pearly  bivalves ;  I 
loved  them  all  dearly,  and  the  bright  sun,  and  the 
pure  air  which  filled  up  my  cup  of  health  to  over 
flowing —  all  this  made  up  my  paradise  of  sensuous 
delight. 

Not  wholly  animal,  either.  Often  my  reveries 
carried  me  into  the  unseen  life,  out  of  which  I  peo 
pled  the  world  about  me  with  bright  and  fantastic 
images  of  glorious  deeds  and  unselfish  love.  If,  as 
Eastern  sages  tell  us,  every  thought  as  well  as  action 
is  registered  in  the  "  lumiere  astrale  "  that  sur 
rounds  our  globe,  shaping  themselves  into  forms 
corresponding  to  their  quality,  then  there  awaits  me 
a  varied  host  that  no  man  can  number.  Well,  I  am 
not  afraid  to  meet  them  !  They  gave  me  happiness 
then,  and  they  make  me  happy  to  recall  them  now. 
What  is  this  dream-land  but  a  species  of  spiritrlife  — 
an  inkling  of  what  we  will  do  when  unfettered  from 
the  earth-body  ?  Watch  the  building  of  the  air- 
castles  of  your  children,  0  parents  !  if  ye  would 
know  of  what  quality  of  feeling  their  souls  are 
made  ! 

This  peaceful  enjoyment  was  my  deepest.  But 
the  exercise  which  swelled  each  blood-vessel,  and 
strained  each  muscle,  was  dear  to  me.  I  loved  work 
—  hard  work  —  every  energy  of  mind  and  body 
tuned  to  its  highest  pitch  ;  otherwise  I  cannot 
account  for  my  fondness  for  shooting.  Such  was 
my  determination  to  secure  the  object  of  the  mo 
ment,  that  I  have  followed  a  single  sickle-billed 
curlew  for  six  hours,  over  slippery  marshes,  until  I 


A  SPORTSMAN'S  LOGIC.  79 

bagged  him.  Yet  it  was  painful  to  me  to  see  the 
poor  birds  die.  I  never  picked  them  up  without  a 
pang. 

In  bird  organization  there  is  much  capacity  for 
enjoyment  analogous  to  our  own.  Their  loves  and 
domestic  circles,  their  great  and  well-ordered  socie 
ties,  their  soul-like  power  of  flight,  their  beauty  and 
tenderness,  and  their  piteous  fluttering  and  almost 
human  cries  when  wounded,  and  mingled  innocence 
and  selfishness  when  alive,  are  so  many  kindred 
claims  upon  our  natures.  The  mournful  look  which 
a  wounded  red-breast  once  gave  me,  when  my  human 
ity  prescribed  a  wrung  neck  to  put  him  out  of  pain, 
haunted  me  for  a  long  while  as  something  particularly 
human.  I  felt  guilty  of  cruelty  to  inoffensive  and 
helpless  nature. 

Why,  then,  do  we  slaughter  birds  so  pitilessly  ? 
Surely  the  earth  is  pleasanter  for  'their  loves  and 
songs. 

At  breakfast,  when  feasting  on  robins  or  plovers, 
these  thoughts  never  occurred.  Their  luscious  fat 
quite  swamped  my  humanity,  as  perhaps  they  have 
often  melted  yours  quite  away.  But  at  other  times 
they  would  come.  As  they  grew  stronger  upon 
me,  I  gave  up  killing,  but  continued  to  eat  feath 
ered  game  as  often  as  I  could  get  it. 

Inconsistency  is  the  inequilibrium  of  humanity. 
How  curiously  we  are  made  up  !  If  the  moral  and 
physical  jnan  were  in  perfect  balance,  we  should 
have  the  man-god,  or  Jesus.  But  only  one  such  rev 
elation  comes  in  long  ages.  I,  for  instance,  have 
grown  so  tender-hearted  towards  inferior  life,  that  to 


80  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

trample  upon  a  worm,  kill  a  mosquito,  or  destroy  a 
noxious  reptile,  requires  a  moral  effort.  Fishing  I 
enjoy,  because  so  little  sensation  seems  to  attend  the 
victims  of  that  sport.  Yet  at  heart  I  love  battles. 
The  thrill  of  a  combat  gives  me  delight.  I  could  see 
human  beings  slain  by  myriads,  under  the  excite 
ment  of  a  great  cause  worthy  of  their  throwing 
away  their  bodies  to  win,  and  rejoice  over  their  de 
votion  and  courage.  I  fancy  I  could  rival  them  in 
it.  No  president  of  a  Californian  Vigilance  Com 
mittee  could  be  more  sternly  pitiless  to  human  devils 
than  myself.  But  a  woman's  tear  makes  me  a  cow 
ard,  and  the  dying  struggles  of  a  fowl  give  me  an 
uneasy  feeling  about  the  epigastrium.  I  cannot 
even  read  a  sympathetic  story  without  a  watering 
of  the  eyes,  which  makes  me  angry  and  ashamed  at 
my  involuntary  weakness. 

Yet  I  think  I  have  the  clue  to  this  seeming  incon 
sistency.  Every  outward  object  is  the  likeness  of 
an  interior  thought  or  feeling.  Form  is  shaped  by 
idea.  All  men  carry  their  characters  in  their  faces 
and  clothes.  We  sympathize  with  whatever  is  anal 
ogous  to  our  own  natures.  If  the  animal  organiza 
tion  is  uppermost,  we  seek  that  excitement  which 
yields  it  the  greatest  pleasure.  The  cruel  or  selfish 
heart,  having  no  emotions  in  common  with  the  inno 
cence,  tenderness,  beauty,  or  freedom  of  nature,  as 
symbolized  in  its  animal  creations,  relentlessly  pur 
sues  them  for  sport  or  gain,  with  just  as  little  com 
punction  as  criminals  prey  upon  the  virtues  of  soci 
ety.  The  man  who  feels  truth  and  joy  in  any  form 
is  tender  and  compassionate,  but  makes  war  firmly 


A  SPORTSMAN'S  LOGIC.  81 

and  conscientiously  on  whatever  there  is,  shaped  in 
human  or  lower  organization,  that  seeks  to  pervert 
or  mar  the  peace  and  happiness  of  life.  We  can 
therefore  judge  of  the  quality  of  the  hearts  by  the 
degree  and  quality  of  pleasure  or  pain  the  varied 
experiences  of  life  bestow.  If  we  yield  to  pure  and 
virtuous  instincts,  our  standard  becomes  elevated. 
If,  on  the  contrary,  they  are  stifled,  the  still  small 
voice  sinks  lower  in  the  scale  of  humanity.  The 
evil  of  the  good  man  becomes  the  good  of  the  bad 
man. 

Cherish  all  that  is  lovable,  whether  it  be  bird  or 
insect,  vegetable  or  man.  By  so  doing  we  promote 
our  own  loveliness.  If  I  am  right,  you  will  excuse 
my  prosing  for  my  cause  ;  if  wrong,  give  me,  dear 
reader,  your  explanation. 

"  We  are  fearfully  and  wonderfully  made."  So 
says  the  sacred  book,  looking  at  man  in  the  light  of 
his  physical  and  spiritual  capacity.  "  We  are  pain 
fully  and  nastily  made."  So  says  the  vulgar  mind, 
seeing  himself  only  through  his  selfishness,  or  be 
wailing  his  boils  and  ulcers.  Physicians  tell  us  there 
is  a  beauty  in  disease.  If  this  be  true  of  the  chang 
ing  particles  of  the  physical  frame  seeking  new 
forms  of  life,  how  much  more  is  it  of  the  interior 
idea  which  those  forms  represent,  or  the  destiny 
which  they  foretell  ! 

Behold  the  Arcana  of  Nature:  CHANGE  —  PROG. 
RESS. 

Look  up,  faint-hearted  soul,  and  be  reconciled 
to  your  fevers  and  chills  —  to  your  remorse  and 
sorrows  !  The  physical  is  typical  of  moral  evil,  arid 


82  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

the  pain  you  undergo  is  nature's  benevolence,  offer 
ing  a  cure.  Pocket  the  smart,  and  pay  her  her  fee 
by  accepting  the  hand  with  which  she  offers  to  lift 
you  upwards. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

DESPONDENCY,   FRIENDSHIP,   FUN,   AND   DEATH. 

AMONG  my  playmates  was  one  of  my  own  age,  a 
generous,  bold  fellow,  ever  ready  to  be  my  compan 
ion  in  everything  but  my  studies.  Books  he  ab 
horred.  He  was  the  only  son  of  a  poor  but  well 
born  widow,  and  the  sole  property  she  had  to 
bequeath  to  him  was  her  love  and  the  example  of 
her  virtues.  These  last  would  have  been  perfect,  had 
she  not  been  possessed  by  a  desponding,  grumbling 
devil.  The  present,  past,  and  future,  were  ever  to 
her  a  black  pall.  She  could  not  get  it  out  of  her 
head  that  she  was  not  the  special  foot-ball  of  Provi 
dence,  and  had  had  more  kicks  here  and  there  than 
any  other  woman  of  her  day.  This  was  not  true  in 
fact.  Her  experience  had  been  a  very  common  one. 
An  ill-timed  marriage,  separation,  loss  of  property, 
deaths  of  husband  and  all  her  children,  save  Bob,  my 
friend,  were  on  the  debit  side  of  her  life.  Her  credit 
side  of  Providence  showed  health,  a  good  home  in  a 
cosey  village,  and  many  friends,  —  more  ready,  it  is 
true,  to  scold  her  for,  than  to  sympathize  with  her 
borrowed  troubles.  Want  of  mental  stimulus  and 
excess  of  fat  were  at  the  bottom  of  her  despondency. 


84  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

It  was  a  fearful  enterprise  to  make  her  a  call.  Her 
impressible  friends  were  sure  to  recross  her  thresh 
old  with  an  indigestion  of  spirits.  If  they  had 
been  buoyant  before,  and  had  faith  that  sunshine 
was  sunshine,  and  a  cloud  but  mere  vapor,  through 
which  light  still  came,  a  little  refracted,  maybe,  but 
still  light,  —  after  one  of  the  diurnal  recitals  of  her 
trials  and  misfortunes,  the  feeble  visitor  was  sure  to 
leave  with  a  deranged  nervous  system,  big  lumps 
about  the  heart,  spasmodic  sighs  from  the  chest,  a 
pressure  as  if  of  the  weight  of  an  evil  destiny  upon 
the  top  of  the  head,  calves  that  required  to  be 
dragged  along,  and  a  general  sensation  of  hypochon 
dria  crawling  through  the  vital  fluids.  To  make 
matters  worse,  the  only  outlet  to  her  intellectual 
energies  was  a  Calvinistic  church,  under  the 
spiritual  and  general  direction  of  a  preacher  who, 
considering  that  he  was  settled  in  as  pious  and 
moral  a  village  as  the  commonwealth  can  produce, 
dwelt  unnecessarily  long  and  often  upon  the  total 
depravity  of  human  nature,  and  the  difficulties  of 
salvation.  He  was  a  frequent  caller  upon  Bob's 
mother.  Under  his  sympathetic  seduction,  she 
became  an  active  church-member;  not  active  phys 
ically,  for  her  bulk  prevented  that,  but  voluble  in 
her  pastor's  praise,  and  energetic  in  frightening  the 
sheep  of  his  flock.  The  two  kept  the  parish  in 
wholesome  terror,  until  a  reaction  took  place,  and 
the  minister  had  a  "  loud  call "  to  go  elsewhere. 

Bob  was  a  dutiful  boy,  but  his  spirits  were  in  the 
reverse  ratio  to  his  mother's.  When  she  sighed  he 
laughed.  If  she  asked  him  to  go  with  her  to  a 


DESPONDENCY,   FRIENDSHIP,   FUN,   AND   DEATH.       85 

week-day  meeting,  he  went ;  but  no  sooner  was  she 
shut  up  in  her  pew  than  he  was  off  with  me  to  the 
fields  or  forest.  She  could  not  scold  him.  As  for 
her  doctrinal  denunciations  and  exhortations,  they 
might  as  well  have  been  given  to  a  Newfoundland 
pup.  It  was  as  good  for  the  spirits  to  be  with  him 
as  it  was  bad  to  be  with  his  mother. 

Noble  boy !  The  shepherd  called  him  a  sad 
reprobate,  destined  to  bring  his  mother's  gray  hairs 
in  sorrow  down  to  the  grave.  But  I  knew  better. 
As  he  had  a  fine,  clear  voice,  it  was  proposed  that 
he  should  take  part  in  the  religious  choir.  To  this 
he  agreed,  if  I  would  go  with  him. 

In  country  churches,  as  all  know,  the  chief  recom 
mendation  for  a  singer  is  a  willing  spirit.  Two 
volunteers  like  Bob  and  myself  were  very  accept 
able.  I  know  as  little  of  music  now  as  I  do  of  the 
Book  of  Hermes  Trismegistus ;  then'  I  knew  still 
less.  For  voice,  I  might  have  been  pitted  against 
the  shrillest  crower  of  the  farm-yard  with  success. 
Indeed,  it  was  one  of  my  amusements  to  crow  of 
a  still  evening,  just  as  the  quiet  village  folks  were 
tucking  themselves  into  their  beds.  There  was  a 
capital  echo  near  by.  My  notes  were  sure  to 
awaken  every  cock  within  a  mile ;  and  such  a  crow 
ing  !  Whew  !  how  angry  my  feathered  rivals  seemed 
to  be  when  they  discovered  it  was  not  daybreak  ! 

My  ear  has  never  been  better  than  a  fish's.  Al 
though  I  have  lived  amid  many  strange  tongues,  I 
could  never  master  one,  owing  to  the  dulness  of 
this  member.  I  compose  and  mangle  English  in  a 
strange  manner  in  speech,  and  with  difficulty  call 
8 


86  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

anything  or  anybody  by  their  right  names.  Had  I 
been  living  at  the  building  of  the  Tower  of  Babel,  I 
have  not  the  smallest  doubt  that  the  confusion  of 
tongues  would  have  been  attributed  to  me. 

Such  were  my  qualifications  for  the  choir.  To 
these  I  added  an  unbounded  reliance  upon  my  own 
abilities  for  anything  under  the  sun. 

The  Sunday  came  for  our  trial.  It  was  a  full 
meeting,-as  I  thought  to  do  us  honor.  During  the 
first  hymn,  I  modestly  subdued  my  voice  below  the 
bass-viol,  and  escaped  notice.  The  second  soon 
came.  It  was  a  heavy  sort  of  a  tune,  with  words  to 
match.  I  recollect  two  lines  of  it  even  now : 

*'  Can  tkis  dark  "world  of  sin  and  woe 
One  glimpse  of  happiness  afford  :  " 

The  big  fiddle  thundered  away  with  unusual  unction. 
The  flute  and  other  instruments  vied  with  it.  A 
spirit  of  mad  rivalry  to  make  themselves  heard  above 
everything  seized  upon  all  the  singers.  Their  un 
usual  noise  might  have  astonished,  but  not  fright 
ened,  the  congregation,  —  who  were  accustomed  to 
thunder,  both  from  the  pulpit  and  music-loft,  —  had 
it  not  been  for  me.  Electrified  by  the  fun  of  the 
thing,  I  gave  full  vent  to  my  lungs,  and  soon  rose 
for  above  them  all,  shrill  and  clear,  but  as  far  away 
from  the  tune  as  I  was  from  really  intending  any 
disrespect.  Soon  every  one's  ear  was  out.  St. 
Cecilia!  what  hideous  discords!  There  was  a  gen 
eral  smash  and  bring  up  of  voices,  instruments,  and 
all,  while  every  one  below  sprang  up  and  stared 
in  dismay  at  the  singers,  just  as  my  voice  at  its 


DESPONDENCY,   FRIENDSHIP,    FUN,    AND   DEATH.      87 

highest  pitch  broke  on  the  word  "woe,"  and  dis 
charged  itself  into  a  choking  shriek,  that  set  all  the 
babies  and  young  children  into  hysterics,  and  the 
deacons  beside  themselves  with  fury.  I  had  suffi 
cient  presence  of  mind  to  wink  at  Bob  to  go,  as  the 
best  method  of  putting  things  to  rights.  We  de 
scended  the  stairs  double  quick  time,  and  were 
never  asked  to  take  our  places  again  in  the  choir. 
Had  I  not  been  the  rich  "  'Squire's  son,"  something 
worse  would  have  come  to  me  of  it. 

Bob  was  no  shot,  but  a  capital  boat-man.  He 
was  always  ready  to  carry  a  spare  gun  for  me  when 
the  sport  promised  well.  Often  have  we  started  by 
star-light  upon  our  excursions,  forgetting  at  times, 
in  our  excitement,  that  hunger  came  of  exercise.  I 
have  known  him,  after  being  out  the  entire  day,  with 
out  other  provisions  than  a  bit  of  cracker,  having 
reserved  that  for  our  long  homeward  tramp,  give  it 
to  a  hungry  boy  he  met. 

Once  we  left  home  earlier  even  than  usual  to 
make  a  long  day  of  it,  chiefly  to  be  spent  in  boating 
on  a  lake,  the  shores  of  which  were  equally  divided 
between  Indian  and  white  man's  ownership.  He  was 
not  in  his  usual  spirits,  but  talked  soon  of  leaving 
home,  to  seek  his  fortune  as  a  sailor.  His  ambition 
and  qualifications,  he  was  sure,  would  soon  cause 
his  promotion.  He  was  at  a  loss  how  to  break  his 
intention  to  his  mother,  and  to  overcome  her  repug 
nance  to  what  she  held  to  be  a  low  occupation.  Yet 
it  was  for  her  chiefly  that  he  had  decided  to  go. 
She  bore  the  comparative  privations  of  her  present 
position  uneasily,  and  he  figured  to  himself  so  rapid 


88  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

a  rise,  as  in  a  few  years  to  put  him  in  a  condition  to 
restore  to  her  many  of  her  lost  comforts,  and  even 
luxuries.  At  all  events,  he  would  be  supporting 
himself.  Frequently  had  he,  to  my  knowledge,  but 
unknown  to  his  mother,  upon  hearing  her  lament 
the  want  of  some  trifle  she  had  been  accustomed 
to  consider  as  necessary  to  her  as  a  lady,  gone  off 
and  sought  some  employment,  often  menial,  during 
the  hours  she  thought  he  was  at  play,  until  he  had 
earned  enough  to  surprise  her  with  the  object  of 
her  wish.  A  more  devoted  son  I  never  knew.  On 
this  occasion,  he  poured  out  his  hopes  and  feelings 
to  me.  I  promised  to  aid  him  with  my  father  in 
procuring  a  ship,  and  in  talking  over  his  mother  to 
his  plan. 

We  killed  game  as  usual,  and  cooked  it  upon  the 
shores  of  the  lake,  after  a  very  primitive  manner. 
Then  we  embarked  in  our  boat  and  visited  several 
of  the  islands,  not  gleefully,  but  with  an  oppression 
at  our  hearts,  which  I  attributed  to  his  proposed 
departure.  Neither  spoke  much.  Once  he  said, 
somewhat  reproachfully,  I  thought,  "  Lanie,  I  don't 
feel  right.  It  is  all  very  well  for  you  to  play  as  we 
do,  but  I  must  begin  to  work.  My  mother  shall  yet 
be  rich,  like  yours.  She  was  born  a  lady,  and  before 
I  die  she  shall  live  like  one." 

I  praised  his  spirit,  and  as  we  talked  of  the  future 
as  if  already  accomplished,  he  became  more  cheerful. 
A  heavy  cloud  had  been  gathering  the  while  in  the 
south-east.  It  portended  rain,  if  not  wind.  "  Bob/' 
said  I,  "  look  at  that  ugly  customer  rising  to  the  lee 
ward  there.  If  that  catches  us  on  the  lake,  we  are 


DESPONDENCY,    FRIENDSHIP,   FUN,   AND   DEATH.      89 

sure  of  wet  jackets.  It  looks,  too,  like  a  big  bag-full 
of  wind."  "  You  are  right,"  replied  he  ;  "  we  have 
no  time  to  lose.  Let 's  be  off  at  once."  So  saying, 
we  jumped  into  the  boat,  hoisted  our  sails,  and  with 
a  light  air  made  for  our  place  of  embarkation. 

The  cloud  grew  bigger  and  darker,  and  now  and 
then  big  drops  of  rain  fell,  with  occasional  gusts ; 
but,  being  reckless  sailors,  we  concluded  to  keep  up 
our  sails,  trusting  to  our  skill,  in  case  it  blew  hard,  to 
keep  our  boat  before  the  wind.  It  did  not  reach  us 
until  we  were  within  half  a  mile  of  our  port.  First, 
a  strong  puff,  which  only  excited  our  spirits,  as  our 
fast  boat  cut  through  the  water  like  an  arrow,  leav 
ing  a  long  white  wake  behind.  "  Hurra ! "  cried  I : 
"  this  is  fun;  the  Dolphin  would  have  to  grease  her 
bottom  to  catch  us  now; "  referring  to  a  rival  boat, 
with  which  we  often  raced.  Bob  wast  at  the  helm ; 
he  looked  anxious,  but  made  no  reply.  Soon  we 
had  to  haul  up  somewhat,  not  to  run  past  our  anchor 
age.  I  sat  on  the  starboard  gunwale,  to  ballast  the 
boat  to  the  windward.  As  we  opened  upon  a  deep 
gulley  in  the  hills,  the  full  force  of  the  squall  struck 
us.  The  water  was  fairly  lifted  into  the  air,  which 
was  filled  with  flying  foam.  Bob's  quick  eye  saw  the 
coming  shock,  and  he  called  out,  as  he  put  the  helm 
down  to  shiver  the  sails,  "  Quick,  Lanie,  for  God's 
sake,  or  we  are  over  !  The  main  sheet  is  jammed ; 

let  everything  run ;  cut  —  cut  the  halli "     But 

before  he  could  finish  the  word,  the  boat  capsized, 
and,  being  heavily  ballasted,  sank  at  once.  As  I  rose, 
I  looked  round  for  Bob,  but  saw  nothing  of  him.  I 
swam  around  the  spot,  calling  his  name,  until  a  sick- 
8* 


90  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

ening  fear  came  over  me.  Still,  the  hope  that  he 
was  making  his  way  to  the  shore,  and  the  wind  pre 
vented  his  hearing  me,  sustained  me,  and  I  struck 
out  for  the  nearest  land.  I  scarcely  knew  what 
followed,  until  I  found  myself  in  an  Indian  hut,  with 
several  dark  faces  bending  over  me.  I  was  in  great 
pain.  The  last  I  recollected  was,  being  near  shore 
and  sinking.  After  the  first  thrill  of  fright,  all  seemed 
like  a  pleasant  dream.  I  was  at  home  with  my  moth 
er.  Then  my  whole  life,  and  all  I  had  ever  thought, 
felt,  or  done,  seemed  all  before  me,  brighter  than 
ever.  My  ideas  were  not  confused,  but  novel,  as  if  I 
had  been  suddenly  invested  with  supernatural  pow 
ers.  At  one  moment  a  consciousness  of  my  actual 
situation  shot  through  me.  I  repeated  to  myself,  as 
it  seemed,  "  Here  I  am  drowning,  and  feel  no  pain. 
I  see  my  mother  and  father  sitting  at  the  table  as 
usual  in  the  dining-room,  but  they  do  not  see  me. 
How  queer !  What  will  they  think  when  they  know 
I  am  drowned  ?  "  After  this,  I  could  recall  nothing. 

The  first  words  I  uttered  were,  "  Where  is  Bob  ? 
What  have  you  done  with  him?  I  do  not  see  him. 
Quick,  tell  me ! "  The  Indians  shook  their  faces 
sadly,  and  bade  me  keep  quiet.  I  insisted  upon 
knowing  the  worst.  They  then  told  me  a  party 
was  looking  for  his  body.  The  lake  where  we  met 
our  disaster  was  very  deep.  It  was  never  found. 
It  must  have  been  entangled  among  the  ropes,  and 
remained  at  the  bottom,  to  be  devoured  by  the 
fishes. 

Poor,  afflicted  mother  !  This  blow  is  indeed  a 
heavy  one !  Earth's  affections  garnered  into  one 


DESPONDENCY,    FRIENDSHIP,   FUN,   AND   DEATH.      91 

sheaf,  and  that  gone  —  no  more  to  be  seen  here  or 
hereafter,  for  thy  creed  condemns  thy  lost  one  to 
endless  misery.  Yes,  that  generous,  loving,  noble 
boy,  whose  every  pulsation  was  manly  and  true, 
whose  sole  ambition  was  to  honor  his  mother, 
was  sighed  over  as  hopelessly  lost  to  eternity,  and 
his  sudden  end  held  up  as  a  warning  to  other  youth, 
by  the  minister  of  the  Comforter !  Did  that  lonely 
widow  feel  this  to  be  so  ?  God  forbid  !  From  that 
moment,  sadly  and  darkly  as  life  lingered  on,  she 
thought  less  of  incomprehensible  dogmas,  and  trusted 
more  in  a  Father's  love.  An  unseen  influence  often 
soothed  her  sorrows,  and  checked  her  repinings. 
Amid  her  darkest  hours  a  quenchless  hope  bedewed 
her  heart,  and,  without  knowing  why,  she  praised 
God  that  her  darling  boy  did  not  seem  wholly  gone 
from  her.  Robert's  prayer  was  fulfilled.  Not  by 
the  world's  wealth  did  he  lift  his  mother  out  of  her 
despondency ;  but,  by  a  nobler  law  of  Providence, 
his  death  brought  to  her  riches  which  neither  rust 
could  corrupt  nor  thieves  take  away. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

GHOSTS,  AND  A  CHANGE  OF  HEART  THAT  WOULD  NOT  COME. 

HAVE  you  ever  heard  the  outcry  of  a  strong 
woman  at  a  sudden  agony  brought  home  to  her 
heart?  I  hope  you  never  may  have  cause  to  hear 
such.  There  is  nothing  in  nature  like  to  it.  It  is  the 
essence  of  despair,  terror,  grief,  and  surprise,  con 
densed  into  a  shriek  that  thrills  through  every  fibre 
of  the  hearer,  and  makes  soul  and  brain  tremble 
under  the  shock.  The  utterer  knows  nothing  of  it; 
sound,  sight,  feeling,  are  all  lost  in  her  spirikconvul- 
sion ;  but  to  another  such  a  wail  cannot  be  recalled 
without  a  cold  shudder  of  the  marrow. 

Bad  news  travels  like  a  snake,  tortuous  and  quick. 
My  mother  heard  of  the  accident  just  as  I  was  enter 
ing  the  house,  brought  home  by  the  friendly  Indians 
who  had  rescued  me.  Her  nerves  were  always  like 
a  lucifer-match,  ready  to  explode  upon  the  slightest 
friction.  All  she  heard  was  that  I  was  drowned. 
At  that  word,  such  a  shriek  as  I  have  described  caine 
from  her,  all  unconscious  to  herself,  as  made  my  heart 
jump  into  my  mouth.  The  next  instant  her  arms 
were  around  me,  pressing  me  to  her  bosom.  "  Thank 
God  —  thank  God ! "  was  all  she  uttered,  and  sank 


GHOSTS,  AND  A  CHANGE  OF  HEART.       93 

exhausted  into  a  chair,  still  clinging  to  me.  She 
recovered  herself  as  suddenly  as  she  was  attacked, 
and  in  a  minute  was  able  to  listen  calmly  to  my 
recital.  Bob  was  a  favorite  of  hers,  for  my  sake. 
She  wept  for  him,  and  sought  to  console  his  mother. 
Her  sympathy  did  much,  but  it  was  weeks  before 
the  widow  could  bear  to  see  me.  After  our  first 
interview,  she  sent  for  me  often.  I  became  dearer 
than  ever  to  her,  as  his  friend. 

What  were  your  earliest  impressions  of  death, 
serious  reader?  Was  it  a  devouring  monster,  a 
dreary  blank,  a  dark  unknown,  or  a  temporary  ab 
sence?  Did  you  shrink  in  fear  from  the  idea?  Did 
you  dread  a  grave-yard?  Do  you  even  now  view 
death  as  a  friend  ? 

I  want  to  know  what  were  your  instinctive  feel 
ings  in  regard  to  it,  independent  of  the  associations 
derived  from  fallacious  teachings  in  later  life.  I 
value  those  most,  for  they  are  the  revelations  of  the 
soul  upon  its  destiny.  Mine  were  singularly  calm. 
Nut  but  that  I  had  been  made  a  coward  as  to  the 
unseen  world,  as  all  children  are,  some  time  or  other, 
through  the  terrifying  legends  of  nursery-maids  and 
pulpit  threats.  For  a  time,  when  very  young,  the 
night  was  to  me  a  world  of  frightful  apparitions.  I 
feared  its  shadows  as  if  they  were  incarnate  devils, 
and  would  have  as  soon  jumped  over  Niagara  Falls 
as  to  have  gone  alone  into  a  dark  room.  But  reason 
eventually  came  to  my  aid.  Having  convinced  my 
self  that  such  fears  were  silly,  my  next  effort  was  to 
conquer  them.  I  forced  myself  to  go  into  the  dark 
est  chambers  at  night  without  a  light,  and  there 


HEART-EXPEKIENCE. 

remain,  until  I  became  so  much  at  my  ease  that  I 
seldom  took  a  light  when  I  went  to  bed.  I  then 
frequented  grave-yards  after  dark,  and,  after  a  few 
chokings  at  mysterious  appearances,  soon  had  no 
more  fear  of  ghosts  than  of  my  playmates. 

When  death  came  so  home  to  me,  I  found  I  could 
not  mourn.  I  missed  my  friend  for  my  own  sake, 
not  his.  Every  thought  in  regard  to  him  was  tran 
quil,  and  full  of  hope.  It  seemed  to  me  he  had  only 
passed  on  to  something  better ;  a  little  while,  and 
my  turn  would  come ;  he  was  to  be  envied,  not  re 
gretted.  This  was  the  feeling  of  my  heart,  even 
while  my  head  was  distracted  with  the  theology  of 
Calvin,  under  which  I  sat  during  all  my  youthful 
years.  Account  for  this  as  ye  may,  reverend  ex 
pounders  of  the  Gospel.  Call  it  a  delusion  of  Satan, 
a  snare  of  the  enemy  of  souls,  if  you  will.  It  was 
comforting  to  me  then ;  it  is  truth  to  me  now.  I 
never  have,  I  never  can,  mourn  the  departed.  I 
envy  them — I  mean  such  as  I  have  known  as  friends. 
Yet  I  enjoy  life,  and  am  grateful  for  being  born. 

There  are  certain  conditions  of  our  existence, 
rarely  combined,  it  is  true,  but  quite  as  true  they  do 
occur,  which  put  us  in  positive  relations  with  the 
unseen  world.  If  there  be  such  a  world,  and  we 
have  a  double  existence,  material  and  spiritual,  —  as 
I  presume  few  doubt,  —  then  it  cannot  be  wonder 
ful  that  at  times  there  should  occur  a  mutual  corres 
pondence,  or  meeting,  as  it  were,  half-way,  in  which 
some  intercourse  is  possible.  It  is,  from  its  very 
nature,  obscure  and  imperfect,  because,  were  it  more 
distinct  and  palpable,  it  would  imply  the  necessity 


GHOSTS,  AND  A  CHANGE  OP  HEART.      95 

of  either  the  man  being  wholly  ghost,  or  the  ghost 
wholly  man  ;  in  which  case,  being  on  equal  terms  as 
to  conditions,  there  would  cease  to  be  any  distinc 
tions  between  their  laws  of  existence,  and  the  super 
natural  would  become  the  natural.  The  utility  of 
such  a  connection  is  to  demonstrate  to  the  inferior 
life  the  fact  of  another  and  higher,  as  well  as  the 
perpetuation  and  punishment  of  sin  through  its 
legitimate  moral  consequences,  as  a  warning  to 
those  who  are  yet  only  in  its  incipient  stages. 
LIFE,  LIFE,  is  the  great  cry  of  Nature.  Nothing 
dies ;  all  is  a  series  of  infinite  changes.  We  feel  it. 
We  know  it.  And  yet  each  soul  has  its  moments 
of  doubt.  But  childhood  feels  and  believes.  It  is 
of  childhood  I  am  now  writing,  and  I  must  be  per 
mitted  to  give  my  experiences  as  living  realities. 

Before  I  was  ten  years  old  I  saw  my  first  ghost. 
I  had  been  asleep  in  a  large  room  by 'myself,  and 
awoke  suddenly  about  midnight.  Sitting  at  my  bed 
side  was  a  female  dressed  in  white,  with  a  peculiar 
cap,  —  I  can  see  her  now,  though  a  third  of  a  cen 
tury  has  elapsed,  —  pale,  regular  features,  mild  but 
death-like  look,  gazing  steadily  at  me.  My  first 
thought  was  that  my  mother  had  got  up  and  come 
to  me.  Another  look  showed  me  that  she  was  a 
stranger.  I  next  thought  it  was  a  dream.  But  I 
was  wide  awake,  felt  the  bed-clothes,  rubbed  myself, 
and  finally  sat  up  in  bed  and  looked  steadily  at  the 
figure.  Then  it  began  to  occur  to  me  that  this  was 
a  veritable  ghost.  If  so,  I  will  prove  it.  I  had  heard, 
if  you  passed  your  hand  through  one,  it  would  dis 
appear.  So  I  went  to  it  slowly ;  but  it  kept  its 


96  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

position,  with  the  same  look  upon  me,  until  I  passed 
my  hand  through  its  body,  so  that  it  touched  the 
chair  beyond.  The  figure  then  slowly  melted  away. 
The  room  was  perfectly  dark,  and  there  was  no  pos 
sibility  of  ocular  deception  by  artificial  means.  It 
was  a  veritable  ghost,  and  I  have  always  since  re 
gretted  that  I  did  not  attempt  to  learn  rather  what 
it  wanted  than  its  nature.  Not  long  after  Robert 
was  drowned,  he  came  to  me  in  the  same  way. 
He  looked  as  in  life,  only  handsomer  and  hap 
pier.  This  time  I  did  not  experiment  upon  the 
figure,  but  we  conversed  quite  as  naturally  as  in 
life,  only  there  were  no  sounds.  Our  thoughts 
seemed  to  be  reflected  in  each  other's  minds.  I 
felt  perfectly  at  my  ease,  and  asked  him  many 
questions  about  his  new  abode,  the  nature  of  death, 
etc.  He  gave  me  to  understand  the  difference  was 
not  so  immediate  and  great  as  we  had  always 
supposed.  I  cannot  now  recall  the  precise  words, 
but  their  meaning  is  indelibly  fixed  in  my  memory. 
The  affections  and  pursuits  which  had  been  most 
dear  to  him  on  earth  still  influenced  him ;  and  he 
was  the  same  Bob,  only  with  much  more  knowledge, 
and  better  off.  On  another  occasion,  a  defunct  aunt 
of  mine  came  to  me.  She  had  been  buried  but  a 
few  days.  Her  memory  was  green  to  me,  from  her 
foolish  indulgences  to  me  and  herself  of  the  merely 
"  good  things  "  of  life.  She  said  but  little,  except 
that  for  her  selfishness  on  earth  she  was  obliged  to 
remain  for  a  considerable  time  wandering  restless 
and  unsatisfied  about  the  scenes  of  her  former  en 
joyments. 


GHOSTS,   AND   A    CHANGE   OF   HEART.  97 

Pugh ! !  Dreams  and  nonsense  ! ! ! 

I  tell  you  they  were  not  dreams;  nonsense,  if 
you  will,  but  not  nightmares. 

While  upon  serious  topics,  I  must  relate  my  final 
success  as  to  a  change  of  heart,  according  to  the 
method  prescribed  by  Calvinism.  I  was  thrown  so 
much  among  this  sect,  many  of  which  were  con 
scientious,  excellent,  and  sincere  persons,  that  it 
was  natural  I  should  become  more  or  less  impressed 
with  their  views.  At  their  request,  I  read  the  bet 
ter  class  of  their  literature,  both  the  purely  doc 
trinal  and  the  simply  persuasive,  and  really  felt 
a  deep  desire  to  become  converted.  The  argument 
that  if  I  joined  their  church  I  was  sure  to  be  saved, 
because  its  requirements  were  so  rigid  as  to  cover 
every  point  of  God's  law,  while  an  uncertainty 
attended  all  others,  and  the  certainty  >of  being  con 
demned  unless  my  heart  was  renewed,  made  a  deep 
impression  upon  me.  The  sublimity  of  the  atone 
ment  of  Christ,  as  a  sacrifice  for  a  sinful  world, 
enlisted  my  sympathies  and  admiration.  Like  the 
Indian,  however,  I  felt  more  like  fighting  than  weep 
ing  for  him ;  and  while  I  pitied  his  sufferings,  I  cor 
dially  hated  the  Jews,  but  tried  to  reconcile  myself 
to  both,  as  a  divine  necessity,  in  which  I  had  a  share 
myself.  Whenever  I  thought  of  the  nature  of  the 
Trinity,  free-will,  original  sin,  and  the  formula  of  re 
demption,  according  to  the  creed  put  into  my  hands, 
I  became  confused  and  sceptical.  But  when  a  per 
sonal  interest  was  aroused  in  Christ,  then  I  felt  and 
persuaded  myself  that  these  doctrines  were  a  sacred 
9 


98  HEART -EXPERIENCE. 

mystery,  which  would  all  become  intelligible  upon 
a  "  change  of  heart." 

I  tried  hard  to  get  it.  Many  prayer-circles  did  I  at 
tend,  serious  and  sincere,  to  win  this  state,  if  it  were 
possible,  through  the  "  means  of  grace  "  offered  me. 
In  private  I  prayed  long,  earnestly,  and  often.  My 
Bible  was  my  daily  study.  I  devoured  religious 
books.  I  am  by  nature  impressible,  and  I  frequent 
ed  the  most  enthusiastic  meetings,  hoping  to  attain 
the  necessary  state  of  mind.  But  that  which  hap 
pened  to  others  did  not  happen  to  me.  Beyond  a 
momentary  impulse  or  struggle  between  reason  and 
feeling,  nothing  ever  favored  my  reaching  heaven 
through  this  channel.  I  was  too  sincere  to  confess 
outwardly  what  my  soul  inwardly  denied.  After  a 
long  and  painful  trial,  which  I  have  never  since  re 
peated,  I  came  deliberately  to  the  conclusion  that  if 
Calvinism  be  the  truth,  I  must  either  be  damned,  as 
being  one  of  the  non-elect,  or  that  there  were  other 
ways  of  truth,  better  suited  to  my  individuality, 
which  God  would  doubtless  disclose  to  me.  For  a 
time,  great  distress  of  mind  seized  me  ;  but  I  became 
consoled  as  I  read  of  "  Our  Father  in  heaven,"  and 
thought  that  He  could  not  prove  less  humane  than 
an  earthly  parent. 

Why  do  you  relate  so  common  an  experience  ? 

Simply  on  that  account.  If  you  have  felt  reli 
gious  doubt  and  distress,  young  reader,  from  an  erro 
neous  view  of  truth,  you  will  sympathize  with  me, 
and  trace  my  education  in  its  gradual  development, 
to  see  if  it  be  the  counterpart  of  your  own.  A  child 
seldom  appeals  to  his  teachers  for  purer  fountains 


GHOSTS,  AND  A  CHANGE  OF  HEART.       99 

of  knowledge,  or  protests  against  the  force  or  per 
suasion  used  to  set  him  wrong  on  the  road  of  life. 
He  swallows  his  lessons  with  a  smack  of  the  lips,  if 
pleasant ;  if  bitter,  by  having  his  nose  held  tight. 
His  ideas  are  rubbed  into  him  very  much  after  the 
fashion  in  which  a  cross  maid  polishes  dry  a  fretful 
boy  after  his  "  Saturday  night's  dip  "  into  the  wash- 
tub.  My  confessions  may  be  useful  as  hints  to  both 
parties.  Under  that  hope,  I  frankly  expose  all  the 
influences  and  circumstances  which  have  moulded 
my  present  ideas. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

I   FIGHT   FOR   A   MORAL   CHARACTER. 

AT  ten  years  of  age  I  was  sent  to  a  boarding- 
school.  I  entered  it  with  a  head  brimful  of  illusions 
of  my  own  individual  importance  and  abilities.  Not 
that  I  was  vain,  but  proud  and  reserved,  and  I  must 
add  selfish.  My  mother  had  unwittingly,  though 
being  the  least  selfish  of  mortals  herself,  cultivated 
this  in  me,  by  over-attention  to  my  wants  and 
caprices.  My  personal  importance  in  her  world  was 
my  standard  of  consideration  for  every  other.  It 
was  well  I  was  sent  away  from  home,  to  make  a 
practical  acquaintance  with  outside  life,  before  my 
weaknesses  had  become  indelibly  stamped  upon  my 
character.  There  is  no  ordeal  for  boyhood  half  so 
useful  as  the  democratic  mingling  of  a  large  school. 
Thoughts,  passions,  emotions,  ambitions,  the  incipi 
ent  virtues  and  vices  of  life,  are  all  shaken  up  and 
sifted.  Gold  and  brass  separate.  Each  displays  its 
true  qualities;  exposure  and  friction  brightening 
the  one,  and  coating  with  verdigris  the  other.  A 
keen  observer  can  predict  the  future  of  any  child,  by 
seeing  him  or  her  at  play  and  studies  amid  the  toss 
and  whirl  of  their  miniature  world.  Seclusion  weak- 


I   FIGHT   FOR  A   MORAL   CHARACTER.  101 

ens  or  over-refines.  Initiating  a  youth  early  among 
those  who  are  to  become  his  adult  friends  arid  com 
petitors  develops  his  own  and  awakens  his  per 
ceptions  of  others'  character.  No  man  ever  be 
came  great  or  good  by  being  shielded  from  the 
world.  Its  perils  and  temptations  are  as  necessary 
for  his  education  as  their  opposites.  Let  no  mother 
who  wishes  to  see  her  son  a  man  too  fondly  keep 
him  within  her  own  embraces.  They  should  be  his 
reward,  but  not  his  protection.  True  protection 
can  spring  only  from  within  himself. 

If  I  did  not  exactly  think  after  this  manner  at  that 
age,  I  felt  thus ;  and,  notwithstanding  my  intense 
love  for  my  mother,  I  gladly  went  forth  to  a  broader 
and  more  fruitful  life.  It  was  never  in  me  to  shrink 
from  any  new  experience.  Yet  at  times  I  was  the 
victim  of  so  much  morbid  sensitiveness  as  to  make 
me  avoid  the  approach  of  my  best  friend,  without 
knowing  why.  My  reason  condemned  the  weakness, 
but  was  powerless  to  direct  my  will.  The  following 
anecdote  will  puzzle  many,  as  it  has  often  puzzled 
me,  as  to  its  motive.  I  never  could  lie  to  conceal  a 
bad  or  improper  action,  but  I  have  told  a  falsehood 
point-blank  to  hide  what  was  not  to  my  discredit. 
With  much  study  I  had  composed  a  Latin  motto, 
and  adopted  it  for  myself.  This  is  it :  "  Vita  sine 
virtute  et  sapentia  nullius  prcetii  est"  Hundreds  of 
other  boys  may  have  done  the  same  much  more 
elegantly  before  ;  but  it  was  new  to  me,  so  I  wrote 
it  in  my  school-books  as  a  stimulus  to  exert  myself. 
My  classical  tutor  accidentally  saw  it,  and  asked  me 
if  I  were  the  author.  Instantly,  I  replied  "No." 


102  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

Why  did  I  ?  If  any  one  can  tell  me,  he  will  confer 
a  favor,  even  now. 

My  companions  soon  began  to  put  me  through 
the  ordinary  tests,  to  see  what  I  was  made  of.  So 
evident  were  my  weak  points,  that  they  were  not 
long  in  finding  ways  of  annoyance.  Ridicule  arid 
teasing  are  useful  in  their  way,  and  many  a  silly 
habit  has  been  killed  through  their  shafts.  Where  I 
was  wrong,  I  soon  foiled  my  opponents  by  making 
myself  right.  I  could  run,  jump,  swing,  arid  swagger, 
with  the  best  of  them.  This  was  not  enough.  As 
every  man  is  an  entire  nation  in  himself,  so  every 
boy  represents  its  youthful  struggles  to  a  position 
in  the  world.  Unfortunately,  our  civilization  de 
mands  an  exhibition  of  physical  strength  and  cour 
age  before  it  respects  moral  qualities.  The  boy 
who  would  be  somebody  must  fight  at  least  once. 

My  trial  soon  came.  The  odd  name  of  mine  fur 
nished  the  cause.  "  Lanie "  was  always  a  sweet 
sound  to  me,  because  my  mother  had  first  called  me 
by  it.  But  my  self-constituted  enemies  persisted  in 
calling  me  "  Pussy,'7  as  the  diminutive  of  "  Kat ;  " 
and  when  they  wished  particularly  to  mortify  me, 
would  scream  out  "Scat  —  scat!"  What  boy  of 
spirit  could  stand  this  ?  If  a  great  empire  came  to 
loggerheads  among  its  own  citizens,  and  fought 
bloody  battles,  because  some  of  them  had  applied  the 
unfortunate  word  Honoousios  to  Christ,  while  others 
persisted  in  considering  his  nature  as  Anomaean,  no 
surprise  need  be  felt  that  a  boy  of  ten  would  fight 
till  he  dropped  to  wipe  out  the  "  Pussy  "  from  his  na 
ture.  In  short, "  Pussy  "  stood  for  coward,  imbecile, 


I   FIGHT   FOR   A   MORAL   CHARACTER.  103 

and  anything  that  was  mortifying ;  while  "  Lanie  " 
indicated  respect  and  affection.  The  former  word 
made  me  miserable  ;  the  latter,  happy.  It  was  a 
question  of  honor  and  self-respect.  What  are  blows 
and  bruises,  or  even  death,  in  comparison- with  be 
ing  honored  by  others,  and  respected  by  yourself? 
Do  not  think,  because  boys  sometimes  fight,  that 
they  do  so  merely  for  the  love  of  violence.  There  is 
as  often  at  the  bottom  of  their  quarrels  a  sound  cause, 
as  with  grown  men.  A  good  stand-up  match  at  fisti 
cuffs  is  frequently  a  capital  harmonizer  in  a  school, 
and  purifies  the  heart  of  much  bad  blood,  on  the 
principle  of  moral  reaction.  It  was  so  in  my  case. 
"  Pussy "  was  really  intended  as  a  test  of  my 
mettle.  I  told  them  to  stop  it.  "  Scat,  scat !  "  said 
a  heavier  boy  than  myself,  coming  towards  me.  If 
I  had  run  then,  I  had  better  have  >  completed  the 
course  by  running  away  from  the  school.  But  my 
blood  was  up.  I  rushed  towards  him,  and,  before 
he  could  put  himself  on  his  defence,  felled  him  at  a 
single  blow  on  his  left  temple.  He  was  stunned  for 
a  little  while.  I  waited  until  he  recovered,  and  then 
we  went  at  it.  Our  respective  parties  stood  around 
to  see  fair  play.  I  was  lighter  and  more  active; 
but  he  had  a  decided  advantage  in  strength,  and  if 
I  hit  him  oftener,  he  hit  me  hardest.  "  Stick  to 
him,  Lanie,  don't  give  up!"  was  the  cry  on  one  side. 
"Run,  Pussy,  before  your  fur  is  all  off!"  was  the 
encouragement  I  received  from  the  other.  Twice  I 
was  knocked  down ;  my  nose  was  wofully  bruised ; 
shooting  stars  bewildered  my  sight;  but  I  kept  at 
it,  and  finally  with  a  lucky  blow  in  my  opponent's 


104  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

stomach,  that  doubled*  him  up,  succeeded  by  another 
in  the  vicinity  of  his  ear,  before  he  could  straighten 
himself,  I  sent  him  reeling  to  the  ground. 

"  Hurra  for  Lanie  !  Well  done,  Lanie  !  you  have 
spunk,  after  all,"  was  the  universal  cry.  We  were 
both  soundly  done  up,  and  glad  to  separate.  My 
enemy  became  my  friend;  and  ever  after,  to  him  and 
all  the  school,  I  was  "  Lanie."  Perhaps  what  helped 
to  popularize  me  was  my  daily  distribution  among 
the  crowd  from  a  barrel  of  apples  my  mother  had 
sent  me,  and  pulling  one  day  out  of  the  water,  at 
some  risk  to  myself,  a  boy  who  had  got  beyond  his 
depth. 

Our  principal  approved  of  sound  thrashing.  He 
was  judicious,  however,  in  his  application  of  the 
birch,  and  seldom,  if  ever,  did  any  delinquent  receive 
more  than  his  deserts.  His  system  of  terror  was 
applied  solely  to  pupils  inaccessible  to  a  more  hon 
orable  motive.  For  others  he  established  a  Corps 
of  Honor.  Its  requirements  were  lofty.  Not  only 
general  good  conduct,  perfection  in  lessons,  but 
inflexible  veracity,  were  demanded.  When  once  a 
boy  had  acquired  this  character,  he  was  admitted  to 
this  Corps.  From  that  moment  he  had  entire  free 
dom  to  go  and  come  when  he  pleased,  without  re 
gard  to  school  bounds  or  hours ;  to  leave  his  place 
in  school  and  speak  to  his  fellows  whenever  it  suited 
him ;  in  short,  to  be  complete  master  of  his  own  mo 
tions,  provided  he  was  punctual  and  perfect  at  his 
lessons,  and  on  all  occasions  spoke  the  truth,  even 
if  it  were  to  his  own  disadvantage.  Whoever  failed 
in  any  of  these  points  was  immediately  degraded. 


I   FIGHT    FOR   A   MORAL    CHARACTER.  105 

The  system  worked  admirably.  It  created  a  moral 
and  intellectual  standard  that  exercised  an  excellent 
influence  over  the  whole  school.  Out  of  a  hundred 
boys,  not  one  tenth  succeeded  in  placing  themselves 
within  the  privileged  circle ;  but  all  aspired  to,  — 
except  a  hopelessly  vicious  or  stupid  few,  such  as 
are  to  be  found  within  every  community.  Poor  fel 
lows  !  Floggings,  expostulations,  and  rewards,  were 
equally  inefficacious  to  counterbalance  the  unfortu 
nate  bias  of  their  natures.  They  became  eventually 
either  the  dead-weights  of  social  progress,  or  filled 
those  situations  in  which  physical  hardihood  and 
energy  of  will  were  more  in  demand  than  a  nice 
sense  of  humanity  or  virtue.  One,  I  recollect,  stole, 
forged,  and  finally  went  to  sea,  to  perish  ignobly  in 
a  fray  in  a  foreign  port.  He  was  a  seductive  boy  in 
his  way,  and  we  had,  when  I  first  knew  him,  many 
sympathies  in  common,  on  account  of  his  bold  and 
adventurous  spirit.  Once  he  persuaded  me  to  join 
him  in  the  robbery  of  a  peach-tree,  at  a  considerable 
distance  from  the  school.  I  recollect  perfectly  my 
internal  struggle.  To  take  another's  property  was 
instinctively  stamped  on  my  conscience  as  a  sin. 
The  love  of  adventure  was  not  enough,  of  itself,  to 
lead  me  astray  ;  but  I  finally  went,  because  I  was 
determined  to  reduce  my  moral  and  intellectual 
being  into  subjection  to  my  will.  This  was  a  good 
test.  My  head  and  heart  said,  "  Don't  go  ;  you  are 
wrong."  Will  said,  "  Go,  to  show  yourself  the 
master  of  yourself."  Strange  ethics  !  I  committed 
a  crime  to  prove  my  free-will. 

We  were  successful  in  our  plunder,  and  in  escap- 


106  HEAET-EXPERIENCE. 

ing  detection.  I  was  mentally  satisfied  with  my 
experiment,  though  uneasy  at  heart ;  but  soon  after 
dropped  my  instigator  as  a  friend,  disgusted  with 
his  cruel  and  lying  spirit. 

Another  school  anecdote  will  give  further  insight 
into  my  strange  moral  character.  It  occurred 
before  I  was  promoted  to  the  Corps  of  Honor.  My 
teacher  detected  me  whispering  to  my  neighbor. 
Without  calling  my  name,  he  said,  "  I  see  a  boy  near 
a  certain  form  breaking  one  of  the  laws  of  the 
school.  Let  him  come  up  and  mark  himself  a  devia 
tion  ;  "  which,  in  our  parlance,  meant  a  misconduct, 
and  was  a  mark  of  shame.  I  felt  sure  he  meant  me  ; 
but,  as  there  was  a  chance  he  had  some  other  boy  in 
view,  my  pride  kept  me  quiet.  I  had  hitherto  passed 
as  immaculate,  and  dreaded  the  mortification  of  the 
slightest  public  exposure  ten-fold  more  than  the 
severest  reproof  in  private.  As  no  one  volunteered 
to  come  forward,  the  teacher,  looking  in  my  direc 
tion,  quietly  added,  "  If  that  boy  be  the  one  I  take 
him  to  be,  he  will  hesitate  no  longer.7'  I  instantly 
arose,  as  if  I  had  been  magnetized,  and,  going  up  to 
the  fatal  slate,  wrote  down  my  own  condemnation. 

Fear  and  courage  seem  very  convertible  emotions. 
What  makes  cowardice? — what  constitutes  bravery? 
My  own  experience  puzzles  me  exceeding  much  to 
know  in  which  category  I  stand,  even  now ;  though 
these  confessions  ought  to  prove  I  have  got  beyond 
dreading  the  world's  judgment,  As  a  boy,  my  phys 
ical  courage  bordered  upon  recklessness.  Gun 
powder  and  fire-arms  were  as  familiar  to  me  as  lexi 
con  and  grammar.  I  have  had  shot  batter  me,  and 


I   FIGHT   FOR   A   MORAL    CHARACTER.  107 

I  have  sent  a  charge  right  through  a  window  imme 
diately  over  my  mother's  head.  I  have,  by  my  care 
lessness,  snapped  my  gun,  loaded  with  sixteen  buck 
shot,  within  a  few  inches  of  and  pointed  directly  at 
my  head,  as  I  was  hauling  it  over  a  fence,  with  the 
hammer  full  cocked.  Then  it  did  not  go  off.  At 
another  time,  without  provocation,  it  has  gone  off  in 
my  hand,  and  no  harm  done.  In  firing  bullets  at  a 
mark  I  have  exploded  cap  after  cap,  and  my  gun 
would  not  go  off.  Upon  looking  at  the  muzzle,  I 
found  that  the  bullet  was  not  rammed  home  ;  —  had 
it  gone  off,  it  would  have  burst  the  gun,  and  prob 
ably  torn  me  to  pieces.  Why  did  it  not  ?  The  next 
time  I  tried  it  with  the  bullet  down,  it  did  its  duty 
as  usual. 

Before  I  could  swim  a  stroke  I  jumped  into  deep, 
running  water,  and,  of  course,  wen£  to  the  bottom. 
Upon  being  hauled  out,  I  repeated  the  operation  at 
different  times,  until  I  could  swim.  With  horses  I 
was  equally  as  careless  as  with  fire-arms  and  boats. 
Several  times  was  I  thrown  far  over  the  steed's 
head,  lighting  once  flat  on  the  top  of  my  own,  thence 
bounding  to  my  feet,  without  a  scratch  or  bruise, 
and  hazarding  immediately  again  the  same  narrow 
escape,  by  rapidly  riding  down  a  slippery  hill. 

I  mention  these  acts,  not  as  proofs  of  courage, 
but  of  real  folly  ;  for  injury  or  death,  to  myself  or 
another,  might  have  resulted  from  any  one.  Yet 
I  continued  to  go  from  one  to  another,  without 
regard  to  warnings,  as  if  bearing  a  charmed  life. 
Accidents  that  happened  to  others  made  no  impres 
sion  upon  me.  The  same  feeling  has  attended  me 


108  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

through  life,  and  it  requires  an  effort  of  reason  to 
prevent  my  becoming  a  practical  fatalist,  from  the 
instinctive  effect  of  so  many  exposures  and  escapes, 
while  prudence  and  calculation  have,  to  my  knowl 
edge,  led  on  others  directly  to  their  destruction. 
Why  the  same  laws  and  chances  should  have  spared 
me  and  taken  them,  is  a  mystery. 

The  habit  induced  by  these  results  might  by  many 
be  construed  into  courage.  It  is  simply  reliance  or 
faith  in  influences  that  regulate  my  material  destiny. 
Knowingly  I  would  not  do  a  foolish  or  imprudent 
act ;  yet  I  often  do,  impelled,  as  it  were,  by  another 
will  than  my  own.  If  that  be  the  case,  then  the 
equivalent  protection  is  in  honor  bound  equally  to 
follow. 

I  am  often  tormented  by  a  vague  desire  to  do 
fatal  acts,  such  as  to  jump  from  a  lofty  place,  to 
slide  over  Niagara  Falls,  to  cast  myself  into  a  cra 
ter,  or  to  fight  a  duel  for  the  sake  of  being  shot. 
Fortunately  there  is  a  balance-wheel  somewhere  in 
my  system, which  keeps  these  desires  from  fruition; 
but  the  impulse  is  none  the  less  annoying.  But  why 
should  I  have  them  ? 


CHAPTER  XIY. 

IDIOSYNCRASIES   AND   THEIR   CONSEQUENCES. 

IDIOSYNCRASIES  are  a  tormenting  heritage.  How 
many  I  derived  from  my  own  erratic  habits,  and  how 
many  from  those  of  my  fleshly  antecedents,  it  would 
be  impossible  to  decide,  except  in  a  family  conven 
tion,  which  should  include  all  my  grim  Pilgrim 
ancestry,  and  their  accidental  dip  into  Dutch  blood. 
Imagine  a  council  of  philanthropic  ghosts  assembled 
to  discuss  the  ills  of  mind  and  body  each  had  be 
queathed  to  long-way-off  descendants  ;  but  now, 
seized  with  remorse  for  our  sufferings,  every  spectre 
of  them  was  ready  to  scramble  for  his  own  legiti 
mate  share,  as  his  portion  in  a  new  scheme  of  expia 
tion.  How  many  twinges  of  pain,  scruples  of  con 
science,  nerve-quakings,  morbid  desires,  and  sores 
of  body  and  mind,  would  be  cast  out  of  us  !  The 
name  of  our  self-unbegotten  weaknesses  is  legion  ; 
a  colony  of  big  and  little  demons,  the  spawn  of  rela 
tions  we  never  saw,  inhabiting  our  hearts  and  mus 
cles,  and  making  us,  nolens  volens,  squirm  through 
life  to  the  tune  of  St.  Yitus'  dance !  Why  must 
every  womb  prove  a  Pandora's  box  ? 

As  there  is  no  hope  of  keeping  these  life-moulds 
10 


110  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

permanently  shut,  we  may  as  well  reconcile  our 
selves  to  their  legacies,  for  the  sake  of  the  good 
they  transmit  also.  Every  ancestral  virtue  counts 
something  in  the  scale  of  compensation.  We  prate 
learnedly  and  virtuously  about  self-education.  Bless 
you,  dear  reader,  your  character  and  mine  were 
formed  for  us  by  people  we  never  heard  of.  At  all 
events,  they  have  pitched  into  our  bodies  fragments 
of  their  earth-life,  helter-skelter  —  here  a  love,  there 
a  hate  ;  a  disjointed  idea  or  a  passion  turned  topsy 
turvy  by  its  long  fall ;  a  rheumatism  or  a  cracked 
brain ;  a  mania  for  music,  but  no  ear  ;  a  burning 
thirst  and  a  rily  fountain; — a  fearful  medley  of  their 
mistakes  to  adulterate  our  free  will.  I  am  bent  upon 
mortifying  my  devils  by  exposing  them,  tails  and  all. 
There  is  nothing  more  salutary  to  one's  moral  health, 
I  assure  you. 

Disagreeable  noises  and  certain  smells  drive  me 
mad.  They  did  my  mother  —  they  did  my  grand 
mother —  and  tradition  says  they  did  my  great-grand 
mother;  so  you  perceive  this  is  a  family  weakness,  not 
mine.  I  could  dash  out  the  brains  of  every  puppy  that 
barks  suddenly  at  my  heels,  with  perfect  delight.  As 
to  saw-sharpeners,  drivers  of  loads  of  iron  or  tin 
ware  over  rough  pavements,  arid  shrieking  children, 
I  could  cheerfully  consign  them  to  anywhere  where 
they  would  be  —  still.  Oaths  —  I  mean  Anglo-Saxon 
ones  —  appal  me.  I  prefer  the  society  of  a  hyena 
to  the  gin-talk  of  a  modern  ruffian.  Every  slang 
speech  is  to  me  like  an  application  of  lunar  caustic. 
Yet  I  once  forced  myself  to  swear  several  emphatic 
oaths,  merely  to  prove  that  it  were  possible. 


IDIOSYNCRASIES   AND    THEIR   CONSEQUENCES.      Ill 

Obscenity  produces  worse  effects  upon  me  than  a 
rough  sea.  The  first  wit  of  this  kind  I  ever  heard 
came  from  a  group  of  sailors  who  were  making 
merry  over  the  marriage  of  one  of  their  mess.  No 
sooner  had  it  reached  my  ears  than  I  choked  and 
fled.  Tobacco  in  any  shape  is  poison  to  me.  I 
wish  all  smokers  embalmed  in  their  filthy  weed,  or 
permanently  fixed  in  their  nauseous  atmosphere,  on 
some  distant  planet.  Why  human  beings  should  be 
allowed  thus  to  poison  God's  air,  is  beyond  my 
comprehension.  Like  original  sin,  I  only  reconcile 
myself  to  it  because  I  cannot  help  it.  Temperance 
in  eating  and  drinking  is  as  instinctive  to  me  as  my 
detestation  of  tobacco  and  profanity.  I  take  wine, 
if  I  desire  it.  But  it  is  no  want,  and  seldom  touched 
except  in  compliment  to  society.  To  gratify  others, 
I  once  was  weak  enough  to  sign  a ,  pledge.  In  a 
few  days  I  took  my  name  off,  resolved  to  be  morally 
free  to  eat,  drink,  and  believe  whatever  was  pleasant 
or  needful,  myself  being  the  judge.  I  never  would 
join  a  church,  club,  or  subscribe  to  any  creed  or 
doctrine,  because,  the  instant  I  found  myself  under 
conventional  bonds  of  any  nature,  my  individuality 
revolted,  and  kept  me  restless  and  wretched  until  I 
had  thrown  off  the  yoke. 

All  this  negative  principle  made  me  a  good  lad  in 
the  eyes  of  very  moral  people.  I  should  except  my 
affair  of  the  pledge,  and  obstinacy  in  church  matters. 
These,  it  is  true,  were  black  spots  to  them.  I  had 
no  vices.  But,  for  all  that,  was  I  virtuous  ?  Virtue, 
it  seems  to  me,  is  the  fruit  of  self-conquest, —  the 
triumph  over  and  not  the  mere  abnegation  of  evil. 


112  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

How  fallacious  is  the  world's  judgment  in  general  1 
If  to  do  none  of  these  things  was  virtue,  then  the 
credit  was  due  to  instincts  bestowed  by  nature,  or 
my  Pilgrim  blood,  which  in  such  things  gave  me  a 
tolerably  pure  and  decent  standpoint  for  the  forma 
tion  of  character.  Those  who  have  to  overcome 
temptation  in  these  respects  are  so  much  more  un 
fortunate  than  myself  in  the  outset  of  life.  My 
negative  is  their  positive  virtue.  But  there  still 
remained  a  rough  mountain  for  me  to  climb. 

Is  it  easy  for  you  to  say  "  no  "  ?  Ah,  indeed,  it 
is  very  easy  to  say  "  yes."  This  disposition  of 
mine  came  from  my  mother's  milk.  In  great  mat 
ters  I  could  be  firm.  But,  as  small  matters  are  the 
springs  of  life,  mine  were  often  out  of  joint  for  want 
of  saying  "  no.77  I  acquired  it,  finally,  but  it  cost 
me  many  a  disagreeable  sensation  about  the  throat 
before  I  could  deny  another  what  impulse  prompted, 
but  judgment  forbade.  There  is  no  luxury  of  life 
more  desirable  than  benevolence  ;  none  easier  than 
an  open  hand ;  no  act  which  assimilates  us  more  to 
the  great  Giver.  But,  as  we  cannot  couple  it  with 
His  wisdom,  He  has  hedged  our  desire  with  many 
impediments.  If  we  give  in  folly,  it  recoils  upon  us 
a  crime  ;  if  in  disinterestedness,  though  not  wisely, 
we  may  be  blessed  in  spirit,  but  have  impoverished 
another  by  undermining  independence  and  energy  ; 
but  if  we  say  "  yes  "  only  at  the  right  time  and  to 
the  right  person,  then  we  have  taken  a  brother  by  the 
hand,  and  lifted  him  Godward.  The  right  difference 
between  Yes  and  No  is  the  golden  thread  of  Life. 

It  is  as  difficult  for  some  persons  to  ask  as  it  is 


IDIOSYNCRASIES   AND   THEIR   CONSEQUENCES.      113 

for  others  to  deny.  Indeed,  these  two  characteris 
tics  generally  go  together.  To  assert  one's  rights 
is  to  many  next  to  an  impossibility,  because  it  im 
plies  decision,  firmness,  and  courage.  But  not  to 
demand  or  take  them  when  they  are  in  your  own 
power,  is  an  anomaly  in  character.  Yet  such  weak 
ness  has  been  mine.  My  teacher  gave  me  a  sum  of 
money  to  take  to  the  post-office  for  letters.  On  the 
way  I  lost  it.  I  had  had  given  me,  a  few  days  before, 
my  pocket-allowance.  This  was  in  one  piece,  and 
double  the  amount  I  had  lost.  I  paid  for  the  letters 
with  it,  and  gave  the  entire  balance  to  the  teacher, 
who  never  noticed  the  surplus. 

My  passion  for  antiquities,  books,  <fcc.,  often  tempt 
ed  me  to  purchases  far  beyond  my  means  ;  yet  I 
never  could  ask  my  father  for  money  without  a 
heart-quake.  I  was  always  in  trouble?  on  this  score. 
My  financing  system  was  extremely  simple.  I  al 
ways  sacrificed  all  I  possessed  to  get  the  coveted 
fancy  of  the  moment.  As  many  objects  passed 
through  my  hands  as  tastes  through  my  mind.  I 
loved  them  all,  but  it  was  impossible  to  remain  con 
stant  to  but  one.  Unlike  faithless  lovers  in  general, 
my  mistresses  were  not  turned  out  upon  the  world  to 
shift  anew  for  themselves.  I  always  secured  for  my 
treasures  a  permanent  asylum  on  the  shelves  or  in 
the  collections  of  some  learned  society,  where  they 
are  still  to  be  seen.  I  presume  a  celebrated  histo 
rian,  who  was  not  so  wealthy  then  as  he  has  since 
become,  can  recall  an  event  which  seemed  to  sur 
prise  and  vex  him  not  a  little  at  the  time,  some 
thirty  years  ago.  There  was  a  sale  of  rare  works 


114  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

on  the  History  of  America.  Among  them  was  a 
copy  of  the  famous  De  Bry,  complete  with  a  very 
slight  exception.  A  perfect  copy  had  recently  cost 
the  Duke  of  Devonshire  twelve  hundred  dollars.  I 
was  determined  to  possess  this.  Beside  myself,  the 
historian  was  the  only  person  present  who  seemed 
to  know  its  worth.  For  days  I  had  watched  this 
treasure,  counting  the  hours  until  the  auction  should 
come  off.  Imagine  among  the  crowd  of  buyers  the 
grave  historian,  equally  covetous  with  myself,  but 
wholly  unsuspecting  a  bibliomaniac  rival  in  the  pert 
little  boy  who  had  climbed  upon  the  counter  to  be 
able  to  keep  his  eyes  constantly  fixed  upon  this 
book,  for  fear  it  would  take  wings  and  fly  away. 
At  last  its  turn  came.  The  auctioneer  held  it  up. 
Not  a  bid  followed,  until  the  historian,  who  already 
considered  it  his,  offered  a  trifling  sum.  I  had 
already  become  adroit  at  those  sales.  Allowing  the 
auctioneer  to  all  but  strike  it  off,  I  made,  in  a  low 
voice,  a  small  advance.  The  historian  looked  alarmed, 
not  knowing  whence  it  came,  and  quickly  raised 
his  offer,  as  if  to  defy  opposition.  I  immediately 
doubled  his  bid.  He  then  noticed  me  for  the  first 
time  with  a  look  of  reproof  and  anger,  as  if  I  were 
meddling  in  matters  that  did  not  concern  me.  *  The 
bids  became  animated.  He  evidently  thought  he 
should  soon  distance  me ;  but  no  sooner  did  he  ad 
vance  than  I  went  ahead  of  him,  fully  determined  to 
have  it  struck  down  to  me,  whether  I  could  pay  for  it 
or  not.  Thus  we  kept  it  up  for  a  few  minutes,  when, 
with  another  look  of  angry  astonishment  at  me,  he 
gave  it  up.  I  managed  with  difficulty  to  pay  for  it, 


IDIOSYNCRASIES   AND   THEIR   CONSEQUENCES.      115 

and   kept   it  until   a    certain   Antiquarian   Society 
tempted  me  to  relinquish  it  to  them. 

Every  boy  has  his  pet  ambition.  Mine  was  to 
become  a  historian.  Mexico  and  Peru  were  my 
favorite  fields  of  research.  Before  Prescott's  Histo 
ries  were  published  I  had  read  most  of  his  printed 
authorities,  and  was  studying  diligently  to  qualify 
myself  for  the  labor  which  he  anticipated.  How 
eagerly  I  devoured  his  fascinating  works  when  they 
appeared,  but  it  was  with  a  pang  of  disappointment 
to  see  my  own  ambition  thus  frustrated.  But  Mr. 
Prescott  was  not  the  sole  cause.  At  fifteen  I  was 
seized  with  temporary  blindness  and  a  rush  of  blood 
at  the  head,  which  completely  destroyed  not  only 
all  my  hopes  of  literary  distinction,  but  even  of  edu 
cation.  My  studies  were  wholly  given  up.  For  a 
long  while  all  books  were  sealed  to  mb.  Up  to  this 
period  I  had  been  the  happiest  of  boys.  My  pur 
suits,  my  companions,  my  ambition,  which  led  me 
to  the  closest  application  and  most  varied  studies, 
and,  above  all,  the  love  of  my  mother,  who  had  en 
couraged  me  more  zealously  than  wisely  for  my 
health,  had  made  life  very  pleasant. 

Darkness    now    overspread    my   bright   horizon. 
With  what  feelings  of  despair  I  lingered  through 
the  first  season  of  my  illness!   Books  tabooed  - 
studies  wholly  at  an  end  —  possible  blindness  even  — 
lotions  and  bleedings  and  bandages  '• —  dark  rooms 
and  spare  diet  usurping  my  attention.     I  submitted 
cheerfully  to  every  trial,  in  the  hope  of  speedy  re 
lief.     In  vain.     Months  and  years  rolled  on,  and  left 
me  helplessly  stranded  on  the  shore  of  invalidism. 


116  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

My  hopes,  my  ambition,  my  studies,  every  pursuit 
in  which  I  had  delighted  and  looked  to  for  future 
fame  and  usefulness,  were  all  floated  from  me,  un 
til  they  passed  either  into  the  hands  of  wreckers 
or  out  of  sight.  Alive,  without  a  future ;  engulfed 
in  a  colorless,  cheerless  present ;  a  miserable,  fail 
ing  boy,  verging  on  puberty,  loving  above  all  things 
the  bright  sun  to  which  he  must  close  his  eyes,  only 
old  enough  to  learn,  but  not  to  reflect ;  my  cherished 
companions  all  successfully  pursuing  their  several 
paths  of  life,  each  step  in  which  took  them  further 
and  further  from  me,  with  no  one  to  replace  them, 
—  was  it  strange  that  I  mourned  as  one  that  could 
not  be  comforted  ? 

My  contemporaries  of  the  "  Corps  of  Honor  " 
proved  themselves  good  and  true  men ;  in  some  way 
or  other  distinguished  themselves  in  learning  and 
usefulness.  The  world  is  better  for  them.  As  for 
myself,  ever  since  that  fatal  illness  I  have  drifted  at 
random  on  the  sea  of  life,  helmless,  aimless,  the  victim 
of  uncertain  health,  and  the  sport  of  my  inborn  insa 
tiable  curiosity,  but  gradually  developing  the  idea  to 
which  I  owe  my  existence.  If  there  be  any  good  to 
others  to  spring  from  me,  it  must  come  from  con 
triving  to  follow  the  thread  of  my  Confessions,  which, 
when  they  fail  to  amuse,  may  instruct.  I  offer  my 
experience  to  the  public,  as  a  moral  spectacle,  on  the 
same  principle  that  the  Spartans  showed  the  tipsy 
Helots  to  their  children. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

THE   END    OF   ONE   EDUCATION,   THE   BEGINNING   OF 
ANOTHER. 

MY  Dark  Age  was  not  without  its  peculiar  alle 
viations.  It  was,  indeed,  very  sad  to  have  my  will, 
which  had  been  up  to  this  period  as  free  of  wing  as 
an  eagle,  thus  suddenly  snubbed  by  a  physical  law, 
which  would  no  longer  second  my  intellect,  but  act 
ually  asserted  its  own  independence,  and  determina 
tion  for  the  future  to  stand  by  its  rights.  But  it 
was  very  kind  of  it  to  do  so  as  firmly  and  early  as  it 
did.  Otherwise,  I  might  have  been  a  permanent  vic 
tim  of  the  injustice  my  will  had  done  it. 

A  cause  extraneous  to  my  own  free  will  had  de 
cided  my  destiny,  and  dissipated  all  my  fine  projects. 
This  was  mortifying.  I  was  indignant  at  my  help 
lessness  to  decide  my  own  career.  It  was  an 
honorable  and  useful  choice.  Why  should  nature 
thus  thwart  me  ?  I,  who  had  confided  so  lovingly 
in  her,  was  I  thus  to  be  so  suddenly  disowned ; 
thrust  into  outer  darkness  because  I  worshipped 
light;  left  to  become  a  fool  because  I  sought 
knowledge  ? 


118  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

Who  bears  his  first  scourging  at  the  hand  of 
experience  any  better  ?  If  I  murmured,  would  you 
not  have  done  the  same  ?  We  are  very  much  alike, 
sir,  at  heart,  simpleton  though  you  call  me.  The 
test  of  difference  is  the  degree  of  wisdom  that  suf 
fering  or  adversity  inspires  us  with. 

I  then  learned  to  appreciate  more  fully  the  treasure 
of  affection  that  lies  in  a  mother's  heart.  Shut  off  from 
all  the  rest  of  the  world,  her  devotion  was  my  life. 
When  I  could  bear  it,  she  read  to  me,  talked,  and 
encouraged  me  with  hopes  of  continuing  my  studies. 
If  confined  to  a  dark  room,  she  was  ever  with  me. 
Her  presence  soothed  and  strengthened  my  over 
taxed  system.  Through  her  eyes  and  ears  I  still 
could  see  and  hear  the  outer  world.  No  harsh  sound 
or  irritating  ray  of  light  did  she  allow  to  reach  me. 
To  this  tender  care  of  mind  and  body  she  added  a 
depth  of  interest  in  my  soul's  welfare  that  lifted  me 
at  times  to  almost  her  level  of  simple  and  sincere 
faith.  The  prayers  which  she  then  uttered  for  me, 
the  example  of  cheerful  resignation  she  herself  ex 
hibited  to  the  will  of  God,  the  beautiful  and  sustain 
ing  selections  which  she  read  to  me  from  the 
Scriptures,  with  her  heartfelt  comments  thereon, 
have  left  an  impression  of  peace  and  resignation  on 
my  character  that  no  after-contact  of  sin  or  scepti 
cism  has  ever  been  able  to  efface.  How  utterly  im 
possible  is  it  to  calculate  the  final  results  of  any 
word  or  action !  A  chance  stone  may  decide  an 
empire's  freedom  or  slavery ;  so  a  speech,  according 
as  its  motive  is  good  or  evil,  may  affect  souls 
through  eternity.  The  illness  which  arrested  my 


A   NEW   START.  119 

eager  pursuit  of  worldly  knowledge  opened  my 
heart  more  fully  to  the  influences  of  maternal  love. 
Was  this  a  bad  exchange  ? 

Nay,  more.  Not  being  able  to  accumulate  longer 
within  myself  the  thoughts  of  others,  I  began  to 
think  for  myself.  From  studies  I  passed  to  theories. 
This,  at  an  age  when  reason  was  still  undeveloped, 
precipitated  me  still  further  into  illusions,  but  they 
were  all  of  an  elevating  and  wholesome  kind.  If 
my  own  and  human  nature  at  large  disappointed  me, 
when  tried  before  my  hopes  and  desires,  it  proved 
to  me  by  my  very  aspirations  that  there  existed  an 
inborn  capacity  to  ultimately  realize  them  all.  I 
was  comforted.  Occasionally  my  health  would  light 
up,  for  a  brief  period.  This  would  tempt  me  back 
to  my  books.  It  was  thought  I  might  study  medi 
cine.  I  commenced  an  anatomical  course  at  one  of 
our  oldest  colleges. 

A  fresh  corpse  had  just  been  brought  in.  It  was 
delivered  to  five  of  us  students.  An  arm,  a  leg,  and 
the  head,  fell  to  the  lot  of  each.  We  fell  to,  dis 
secting,  the  head  having  by  lot  become  my  portion. 
With  my  usual  zeal,  I  worked  away  until  it  was  time 
to  go ;  but,  not  having  sufficiently  satisfied  myself,  I 
cut  off  the  head  from  the  trunk,  put  it  in  my  pocket- 
handkerchief,  and  sallied  out  into  the  streets  to  take 
it  home.  I  had  some  distance  to  go  through  the  most 
frequented  parts  of  the  city,  but  luckily  no  one 
suspected  the  contents  of  my  bundle. 

Arrived  at  home,  I  secreted  myself  in  my  room 
for  several  days,  and  dissected  at  my  leisure.  It 
was  so  cold  that  the  fleshy  parts  finally  froze.  I  be- 


120  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

came  impatient  to  get  the  skull  cleaned,  to  add  to  my 
phrenological  cabinet ;  and  as  it  had  become  almost 
impervious  to  the  scalpel,  I  determined  to  hasten 
matters  by  boiling  it.  Watching  my  opportunity 
when  the  cook  was  out  of  the  kitchen,  I  ran  down, 
seized  an  iron  pot  just  about  to  do  duty  for  dinner, 
filled  it  with  water,  popped  the  gory  head  in  it,  and 
hung  it  over  the  fire.  As  soon  as  the  water  heated 
the  flesh  began  to  melt ;  and,  as  it  was  in  reality  far 
gone  in  decomposition,  there  arose  such  a  stench  as 
all  but  drove  me  out  of  the  room.  Soon  there  was 
a  terrible  clatter  up  stairs.  "  What 's  that  ?  —  where 
does  that  horrible  smell  come  from  ?  Phew !  phew ! ! 
Heaven  preserve  us,  what  has  got  into  the  house  ?  " 
The  thermometer  was  near  zero,  but  the  windows 
and  doors  were  banged  open  with  an  emphasis  that 
left  me  no  doubt  that  there  was  a  degree  of  excite 
ment  overhead  which,  if  it  were  traced  to  me,  would 
not  prove  over  agreeable.  In  the  midst  of  the  air 
ing  my  father  came  in.  "  What 's  the  meaning  of  all 
this?"  I  heard  him  exclaim.  "  Doors  and  windows 
open  on  such  a  day  !  —  are  you  mad  ?  "  — "  Lord, 
what  a  stink  !  What,  in  the  name  of  assafoetida,have 
you  been  doing?  " 

I  did  not  like  the  ring  of  his  voice.  At  that 
instant  I  heard  my  mother's  step  upon  the  kitchen 
stair.  She  had  explored  every  other  part  of  the 
house,  in  a  frantic  search  of  the  nuisance.  Her 
organ  of  smell  was  the  most  acute  I  ever  knew, 
and  the  whiff  she  was  now  getting  was  the  strangest, 
strongest,  and  foulest,  it  had  ever  been  assailed  with. 
Could  she,  by  any  possibility,  have  been  put  into  a 


A  SURPRISE.  121 

rage,  now  was  the  opportunity.  I  had  not  time  to 
take  the  pot  off  the  fire ;  so  I  ran  and  hid  myself 
where  I  could  watch  her  movements.  She  was 
gasping  for  breath.  Well  she  might,  as  she  was 
not  used  to  the  odors  of  a  dissecting-room ;  and  I 
do  assure  you  there  is  nothing  worse  than  boiling 
putrid  human  flesh. 

Her  eyes  glanced  inquiringly  about  the  kitchen. 
At  last  they  saw  the  pot.  "  What  can  the  cook 
have  put  into  that  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  and  pulled  the 
cover  off.  Imagine  her  consternation,  as  a  ghastly 
human  head,  horribly  gashed  and  hacked,  eyes  gone, 
and  ears  in  strips,  bobbing  up  and  down,  met  her 
view  ! 

She  shrieked  and  ran.  Then,  suspecting  it  was 
my  doings,  she  seized  the  pot,  rushed  into  the 
yard,  dashed  it  on  to  the  snow,  and1  hurried  from 
the  scene  with  a  disordered  stomach  and  shocked 
nerves. 

How  she  explained  the  affair  to  my  father  I  never 
knew.  I  kept  out  of  the  way  until  the  purification 
was  complete,  and  noses  all  sweet  again.  But  I 
picked  up  my  head,  finished  boiling  it  in  a  safer 
locality,  and  kept  the  skull  for  a  long  while  in  my 
bed-room,  in  the  society  of  sundry  other  crania  and 
a  mummy  from  Peru,  until  one  evening  awful  shrieks 
were  heard  from  one  of  the  maids,  and  a  desperate 
flight  down  stairs.  Some  family  wag  had  taken 
the  skull,  put  a  night-cap  upon  it,  and  left  it  in  the 
maid's  bed.  After  this  feat,  the  whole  collection 
was  exiled  to  a  phrenological  lecturer's  cabinet,  and 
I  gave  up  physic  and  dissecting.  The  fact  is,  for  a 
11 


122  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

dead  body  I  had  the  appetite  of  a  worm,  but  I  could 
not  stand  the  cool  craunch  of  the  knife  through  live, 
flesh,  and  so  fled  operations  as  if  they  had  been 
contagious. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

WHAT  IS  ME,   AND   WHAT   IS   NOT   ME. 

THE  best  man  and  woman  of  us  all  is  possessed 
of  at  least  one  devil.  With  some  it  is  a  neat  devil ; 
others  are  infested  by  stingy  or  spendthrift  devils. 
There  is  no  end  to  the  variety,  as  you  must  be 
aware,  fractious  reader,  by  consulting  your  inwards. 
It  was  not  without  reason  the  ancient  augurs  read 
the  fate  of  men  and  battles  in  the  entrails  of  ani 
mals.  They  would  have  been  more  exact  in  their 
revelations  had  they  inspected  the  bowels  of  their 
clients,  though  doubtless  a  fellow-feeling,  in  most 
cases,  made  a  bull,  a  cock,  or  an  ass,  answer  quite 
as  well.  With  most  men,  their  sympathies  are  more 
keenly  felt  in  their  abdomens  than  their  brains. 
From  this  fact,  I  judge  this  portion  of  the  human 
system  to  be  the  favorite  haunt  of  our  domestic 
devils. 

It  would  be  a  curious  and  interesting  inquiry  to 
ascertain  how  many  are  indigenous,  —  that  is,  our 
own,  born  solely  of  our  whims,  caprices,  follies,  or 
sins, — and  how  many  are  fruits  of  the  ancestral  tree. 
Come  back,  departed  blood  and  bones  that  claim 


124  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

me  as  a  descendant !  Come  one,  come  all,  from  out 
of  your  shadowy  homes,  kind  spectres,  good  spec 
tres,  loving  spectres,  impalpable  ghosts  though  you 
be  !  take  your  property !  "With  interest  to  the 
utmost  farthing,  will  I  cheerfully  render  you  your 
pet  devils  and  all  their  works  ! 

But  stay  !  Must  your  virtues  go,  too  ?  If  you 
strip  me  of  these,  what  am  I  ?  My  individuality  has 
diminished  to  so  infinitesimal  a  point,  that  it  is  more 
ghost-like  than  ye  all,  —  a  pale,  feeble,  cadaverous 
light,  that  even  a  glow-worm  would  turn  its  nose  up 
at.  I  repent  me.  Of  earth,  earthy ;  of  humanity, 
human ;  its  pains  and  penalties,  its  hopes  and  real 
izations,  —  I  accept  all,  I  embrace  all. 

Man  !  't  is  a  noble  title.  What  though  thy  course 
leaves  a  troubled  wake  behind,  and  dashes  the  spray 
far  before  ?  When  clouds  overhang  the  disturbed 
waters,  they  are  chilly  and  dark ;  but  when  the  sun 
comes  out,  their  flying  drops  are  so  many  dia 
monds. 

Sun,  shadow;  joy,  sorrow;  pleasure,  pain;  — 
twins  all.  Without  the  one,  the  other  is  not  born. 
Why  are  ye  ?  Why  am  I  ?  I  am  because  I  am. 
But  I  would  know  what  "  I  am  "  means.  Whence 
my  organization  ?  to  what  end  ?  what  is  mine,  what 
yours,  ye  souls  that  have  anticipated  me  on  earth  ? 
I  hail  existence  as  the  gradual  solution  of  my  in 
quiries.  Its  experiences  shall  all  be  welcome.  Suf 
fer  I  must ;  tempted  I  shall  be  by  passions,  betrayed 
by  ignorance,  deceived  by  desire,  disturbed  by  in 
herited  vices,  injured  by  crime :  disappointment, 
disease,  death,  must  each  be  mine,  for  I  am  human. 


WHAT  IS  ME,  AND  WHAT   IS  NOT  ME.  125 

Man  implies  love,  hate  ;  wealth,  poverty ;  wisdom, 
folly;  contentment,  despair;  faith,  doubt;  repose, 
action.  Other  wills,  present  and  departed,  are  des 
tined  to  disturb  mine.  Mine  reacts,  in  turn.  It 
seems  a  strange  chaos.  I  hear  voices,  now  whis 
pering,  now  shouting,  some  with  accents  of  angels, 
others  with  sneers  of  devils,  "  Come  —  go  !  "  "  Do 
—  don't ! "  Darkling  around  me  are  queer,  dim 
shapes ;  faces  that  alternate  smiles  and  frowns ; 
a  confused  blending  of  freedom  and  bondage,  joy 
and  sorrow,  beauty  and  ugliness. 

How  they  pass  and  repass  !  Now  they  all  blend 
into  one  ;  then  they  separate,  and  each  grows  bright 
or  dark,  as  its  motive  has  power  to  change  its  hue. 
Some  scowl  at  me,  some  beckon ;  others  dance  con 
fusedly  about,  —  now  coming  towards  me  with  open 
arms,  and  looks  that  fascinate  ;  then  floating  away, 
leaving  behind  fragrance  or  foulness. 

Ye  are  welcome.  I  wish  to  learn  to  what  extent 
I  am  I,  and  what  of  me  is  you.  Nature  has  made 
me  your  equal  in  power.  The  life  that  has  shapen 
your  ideas  has  given  me  free-will  to  shape  mine.  I 
may  be  your  master.  I  may  be  your  slave.  The 
dust  of  conflict  obscures  my  sight ;  but,  thank 
God!  I  can  fight.  I  will  to  know  what  earth- 
life  is. 

Am  I  to  sail  at  random,  billow-tossed,  amid  other 
living  wrecks,  on  a  horizonless  ocean,  torn  by  every 
wave,  powerless  to  repair  damages,  until  I  drift  into 
a  bottomless  gulf?  or,  am  I  at  last  to  bring  my  sail- 
patched  bark,  strained  and  worn,  but  sound  and  fast, 
into  a  fair  haven  ? 


126  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

The  ocean  is  before  me.  I  have  now  no  option. 
Launch  and  sail  I  must.  Courage,  Soul !  have  an 
eye  to  the  ballast,  Reason  !  Imagination  is  already 
filling  the  light  sails,  and  we  are  under  weigh. 

These  life-queries  come  earlier  to  some  than  to 
others.  To  me  they  came  very  soon,  and  puzzled 
my  brains  exceedingly.  They  puzzle  me  now,  but 
I  have  navigated  so  far  as  to  see  the  reflection  of  a 
light  ahead.  Perhaps  it  is  a  jack-o'-lantern !  When 
up  with  it,  I  shall  know. 

This  interweaving  of  man  with  man  is  a  curious 
process  of  nature.  We  are  all  one  another,  and  yet 
nobody  else  is  us.  Individuality  is  the  measure  of 
the  difference.  No  two  men  ever  were  precisely 
alike,  and  yet  each  man  is  the  echo  of  all  men.  The 
"  Canard  "  of  French  wit  seems  true  of  mankind. 
If  you  have  not  heard  the  origin  of  this  term,  I  will 
tell  it  to  you. 

A  man  bought  twenty  ducks,  to  test  their  vorac 
ity.  He  killed  the  twentieth,  cut  it  up,  and  gave  it 
to  the  remaining  nineteen  to  eat.  They  gobbled  it 
down  in  a  few  minutes.  He  repeated  the  experi 
ment  with  another,  and  another,  with  the  same 
result.  Finally,  there  was  but  one  left.  It  had 
eaten  up  all  the  rest. 

So  it  would  seem  with  men.  They  are  so  much 
alike,  you  could  reduce  them  all  into  the  first  man, 
by  a  similar  process  of  absorption  of  vices  and  vir 
tues.  The  result  would  be  the  Grand  Man  of  Swe- 
denborg.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  experiment  of 
human  nature  will  resolve  itself  finally  into  the 
Grand  Man  of  each  one  of  us,  with  individualities 


WHAT   IS   ME,   AND   WHAT   IS   NOT   ME.  127 

distinct,  yet,  like  a  musical  scale,  forming  a  complete 
harmony. 

To  arrive  at  this  perfect  I,  this  individuality,  we 
must  undergo  our  present  embryo  life,  and,  by  free 
dom  of  will,  out  of  its  complicated  system  of  checks 
and  balances,  find  out  our  proper  equilibrium.  Un 
doubtedly  there  is  one  destined  to  each  soul.  That 
attained,  and  our  chart  through  the  great  Future 
becomes  clear. 

One  of  our  chiefest  difficulties  is  to  shake  off 
what  does  not  properly  belong  to  us.  It  is  neces 
sary  to  reject  all  that  deranges  our  moral  and  physi 
cal  being,  and  retain  all  that  tranquillizes  and  ele 
vates. 

The  principal  of  my  inherited  devils  was  being 
always  in  a  devil  of  a  hurry.  Of  course,  the  vulgar 
name  of  my  imp  was  Impatience.  I  did  not  create 
it.  It  was  born  with  me.  Indeed,  I  fancy  I  am  in 
the  category  of  those  who  were  born  in  a  hurry, 
and  have  been  in  a  hurry  ever  since. 

This  is  a  very  disagreeable  devil.  He  precipi 
tates  one  into  a  thousand  follies  and  mistakes.  The 
very  efforts  we  make  to  cure  the  evil  are  leavened 
with  his  malice  ;  so  that,  in  our  hurry  to  seize  the 
honey,  we  often  grasp  only  the  maker's  sting. 

Had  I  not  been  in  such  a  prodigious  hurry  to 
become  learned  and  famous,  I  might,  perhaps,  have 
become  so.  Had  I  not  subsequently  been  in  such 
a  hurry  to  arrive  at  this  and  that,  as  you  shall  see, 
I  might  have  spared  you  these  confessions. 

Would  an  LL.D.,  or  a  D.D.,  or  an  M.D.,  after  my 


128  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

name  (how  these  D's  remind  one  of  the  devil!)  have 
consoled  you  for  their  loss  ? 

I  trust  not.  At  all  events,  they  convince  me  I 
am  what  I  am ;  and  under  no  circumstances  could  1 
have  been  you,  Mr.  or  Madam. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

YOUTH  NOT  OF  THE  DEVIL.  —  A  HUMAN  CACTUS. 

MOST  emphatically  do  I  protest  against  the  libellers 
of  youth.  Its  impulses  are  not  sinful.  What  a  base 
reflection  upon  the  Creator,  to  assert  that  the  young 
soul  loves  sin  as  the  vampire  loves  blood  !  I  do  not 
believe  this  of  any  one.  Each  novice  in  life  aspires 
to  reach  its  standard  of  good.  Dubious  ways  result 
more  from  necessity  and  ignorance  than  choice.  Give 
one  human  being  a  fair  chance,  and  ordinarily  he  be 
comes  a  worthy  member  of  society.  Deprive  another 
of  that  chance,  and  he  makes  society's  black  sheep. 
The  law  that  generates  the  one  or  the  other  is  mainly 
independent  of  both.  Free-will  is  one  thing — freedom 
of  will  is  quite  another.  When  the  latter  has  fair  play 
in  blood  as  well  as  mind,  men  develop  favorably. 
Some  human  beings  seem  destined  by  nature  to  be 
the  sewers  of  society.  They  receive  and  carry  off 
its  foul  humors  ;  or,  like  lightning-rods,  they  serve 
to  collect  the  dangerous  electricity  from  the  upper 
atmosphere,  and  dissipate  it  into  the  regions  beneath 
our  feet. 

The  less  social  evil,  the  fewer  of  these  conductors. 
In  some  degree  every  one  shares  in  this  office  ;  and 


130  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

in  some  degree,  also,  in  collecting  and  distributing 
the  healthful  currents  of  life.  If  our  organizations 
and  circumstances,  as  bestowed  by  birth  or  society, 
favor  the  one  more  than  the  other,  is  the  resultant 
virtue  or  vice  our  own  ? 

Free-will  is,  however,  strictly  our  own.  We  can 
choose  our  aims,  hopes,  and  loves.  We  can  choose, 
also,  the  manner  in  which  we  will  pursue  them.  As, 
therefore,  we  desire  good,  truth,  beauty,  for  their 
own  sakes,  in  that  degree  we  attract  to  ourselves 
their  divine  essence  ;  but  if  wealth,  power,  and 
health,  are  sought  simply  to  administer  to  sensuality 
or  selfishness,  the  soul  becomes  surcharged  with 
noxious  vapors. 

Good  and  evil  spring,  therefore,  both  from  cir 
cumstance  and  choice.  From  either  cause  we  are 
judged  by  society,  in  proportion  to  their  outward 
effects,  as  virtuous  or  vicious.  The  Judge  of  soul 
as  well  as  action  alone  sees  and  impartially  weighs 
both,  A^s  the  one  or  the  other  predominates  from 
within  ourselves,  so  measures  He  our  condition.  By 
laws  that  never  change,  each  human  being  receives 
that  which  its  will  craves  ;  not  always  as  it  craves 
it,  but  more  often  in  sorrow  and  suffering,  ofttimes 
in  guilt  or  crime,  that  it  may  be  chastened  into  re 
pentance,  or  instructed  by  experience.  From  these 
seeds  of  life  grows  its  great  purpose,  INDIVIDUALITY. 
Evil  consequently  has  as  much  a  mission  to  fulfil  as 
good.  It  is  the  divine  "  no."  Evil  being  self-destruc 
tive,  if  persisted  in  through  all  its  warning  gradations, 
may  not  the  soul  ultimately  so  exclude  from  itself 
virtue,  or  the  divine  "  yes,"  as  to  lose  all  person- 


YOUTH  NOT  OP  THE  DEVIL.         131 

ality,  and  be  degraded  into  the  original  elements 
of  matter,  and  thus  undergo  "  the  second  death  "  ? 

If  goodness  be  endlessly  progressive,  —  ever  trav 
elling  towards,  but  never  reaching,  that  infinite  per 
fection  which  centres  in  the  great  ONE, — why  may  not 
sin,  by  its  specific  gravity,  go  constantly  downward, 
until  the  idea,  ceasing  to  exist  in  form,  loses  itself 
in  the  origin  of  all  things  ;  and  then,  under  new  com 
binations,  start  once  more  on  another  progressive 
experiment  of  life  ? 

In  this  manner,  evil,  as  a  necessary  element  in  the 
design  of  Providence  in  forming  and  proving  char 
acter,  would  continue  to  exist  for  its  specific  pur 
pose  in  the  mass,  revolving  and  re-making,  chang 
ing  but  never  inactive,  unless  its  mission  ceased  for 
want  of  objects,  while  the  individual  man  is  gradu 
ally  lifted  out  of  its  reach  or  necessity  by  the  power 
of  a  purified  will. 

Such  seems  to  me  not  unlikely  to  be  the  case.  If 
so,  it  is  more  efficacious  to  encourage  than  to  terrify 
youth.  A  bewildered,  frightened  will  becomes  des 
perate,  or  foolish.  ,  Have  patience,  therefore,  with 
youth.  Be  firm  and  judicious.  Soothe  its  fears, 
dispel  its  doubts,  cheer  its  efforts.  Otherwise,  by 
making  heaven  an  impossibility,  and  sin  an  execu 
tioner  instead  of  a  reformer,  it  rejects  all  faith,  and 
cleaves  to  a  material  existence  as  its  sole  hope. 
Human  nature  does  not  at  heart  willingly  confess, 
"  Let  us  eat,  drink,  and  be  merry,  for  to-morrow  we 
die.'7  It  clings  even  to  hell,  so  great  is  its  horror 
of  annihilation.  Grant  the  possibility  of  that  result 
from  the  cankerous  nature  of  continued  sin,  with  the 


132  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

certainty  of  progressive  happiness  from  an  opposite 
course,  and  man  becomes  inspired  with  new  life. 
Deal  lovingly  and  firmly  with  disordered  wills.  The 
heart  once  set  right,  reason  can  be  left  at  its  own 
leisure  to  extirpate  error. 

When  I  commenced  this  chapter  I  meant  to  have 
gone  straight  on  with  my  confessions ;  but  to  mor 
alize  has  become  so  much  me,  that  I  quite  forget  my 
readers  may  prefer  a  wholly  different  sauce  to  their 
pudding.  However,  it  is  only  by  turning  myself 
inside  out  that  they  can  make  my  acquaintance 
thoroughly.  It  is  better  to  know  what  a  friend  is 
than  what  he  does.  If  I  can  combine  the  two  so  as 
to  interest  you,  it  will  greatly  delight  me. 

I  got  into  this  vein  in  thinking  of  all  the  new 
plans  and  visions  of  life  that  crowded  my  mind,  after 
my  first  were  broken  up  by  my  illness.  They  came 
gradually,  one  after  another,  dear  illusions  all,  and 
not  one  of  which  but  was  pregnant  with  good  and 
beauty  to  the  world  at  large.  My  chief  hobby  was 
to  walk  about  my  native  city,  with  my  head  brimfull 
of  improvements  and  architectural  designs  for  its 
ornamentation.  I  founded  societies,  built  spacious 
and  elegant  public  edifices,  and  in  a  thousand  ways 
made  myself  a  public  benefactor,  without  thought 
of  wealth  or  distinction  to  myself.  My  most  inti 
mate  friend  talked  to  me  about  going  to  the  South 
Seas,  and  there  joining  some  savage  tribe  to  teach 
them  the  arts  of  civilized  life.  He  desired  to  be  a 
Manco  Capac  —  I  aspired  to  be  an  Augustus.  Both 
of  us  heartily  wished  every  man,  woman,  and  child, 
health  and  happiness. 


A   HUMAN  CACTUS.  133 

These  mental  straws  showed  the  directions  of  our 
dispositions.  If  there  be  any  speck  of  moral  obli 
quity  in  such  day-dreams,  I  pray  the  largest  theo 
logical  sin-magnifyers  to  point  it  out.  They  gave  me 
a  peaceful,  pleasant  occupation  then,  and  have  never 
haunted  -my  conscience  since.  There  is  something 
beautiful  in  the  first  emotions  of  youth,  when  desires 
and  hopes,  pure  and  sincere,  spring  spontaneously 
from  out  the  soul,  crop  after  crop,  like  fragrant  prai 
rie-flowers,  scenting  the  air  with  a  sweetness  which 
seems  of  Paradise.  Soon,  alas  !  comes  the  wild- 
hog  to  root  them  up,  grubbing  after  his  dirty  food  ; 
but  while  they  last  their  odor  refreshes  the  senses, 
as  their  memory  forever  gladdens  the  soul. 
#  #  #  #  #  ,  *  * 

She  was  not  ivy,  for  she  did  not  cling  lovingly  ; 
neither  was  she  quite  of  the  lily  species,-  —  tender, 
graceful,  but  scentless.  A  violet  would  but  feebly 
symbolize  her  beauty  and  tenacity  of  character.  She 
was  rather  a  human  cactus,  —  prickly,  beautiful,  and 
strong,  dangerous  to  meddle  with  if  you  did  not 
understand  her  nature  ;  if  you  did,  the  rich  flowers 
captivated  the  eye,  and  their  fruit  was  very  tolerable 
to  eat,  if  you  only  knew  how  to  get  at  it. 

Who  —  what  are  you  talking  about  ? 

Why,  the  girl  I  fell  in  love  with,  to  be  sure, 
Stupid  !  Have  you  no  romance?  I,  who  had  ar 
rived  at  the  picturesque  age  of  life,  must  as  natu 
rally  be  sentimental  and  discover  angels,  as  fifteen 
years  earlier  catch  the  measles  or  drive  hoop. 

So,  one  day,  when  my  teens  were  in  their  prime, 
and  consequently  I  was  at  the  climax  of  the  "  puppy 
12 


134:  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

age/'  tripping  along  a  country  roadside,  I  met  my 
angel. 

She  was  indeed  a  sweet  creature  —  to  look  at. 
Lithe  and  graceful  as  a  fawn ;  of  extreme  delicacy  of 
feature  and  classical  beauty  of  outline  ;  a  skin  that 
had  rivalled  ivory,  had  not  the  rich,  generous  blush 
of  youthful  blood  suffused  it  with  warm  life-tints ;  a 
well-moulded,  though  not  as  yet  fully-developed  per 
son  ;  eyes  that  quivered  with  untested  impulses,  — 
pure,  truthful,  and  merry ;  —  in  short,  a  whole  cyclo 
pedia  of  fascination ;  —  what  wonder  I  fell  in 
love  ! 

In  those  days  neither  modesty  nor  timidity,  which 
have  since  so  gained  upon  me,  impeded  my  pursuit 
of  any  object  on  which  I  had  set  my  heart.  An 
introduction  soon  took  place.  In  a  week  my  only 
rival  voluntarily  withdrew,  and  I  had  the  field  to 
myself. 

What  will  not  enthusiasm  accomplish  !  Constantia 
and  myself  were  as  radically  unlike  as  trout  and 
pickerel.  But  such  a  bright  halo  did  our  untu 
tored  hearts  throw  over  ourselves,  that  never  did 
youthful  lovers  more  sincerely  believe  that  they 
were  expressly  formed  for  each  other  than  we  did. 
Our  intercourse  soon  became  a  delicious  day 
dream. 

If  in  America  the  youth  of  both  sexes  are  allowed 
great  freedom  in  their  social  relations,  the  result,  as  a 
whole,  is  far  more  favorable  to  virtue  than  the  almost 
Oriental  seclusion  of  the  unmarried  females  of  South 
ern  Europe.  It  develops  a  sense  of  honor  and  pro 
tective  responsibility  among  our  young  men  towards 


A    HUMAN   CACTUS. 


135 


their  female  companions,  such  as  exists  in  no  other 
country  ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  women,  in  par 
taking  so  freely  and  largely  of  the  society  and 
pleasures  of  the  male  sex,  refine  and  elevate  its 
character.  True,  there  are  sad  instances  in  which 
opportunity  has  promoted  immorality  ;  but  we  may 
be  pretty  well  assured  that  such  individuals  have 
but  anticipated  a  little  while  desires  which  no  sys 
tem  of  artificial  restraint  could  have  purified. 

For  my  own  part,  I  made  a  full  confidant  of  my 
mother.  It  seemed  as  natural  to  rne  to  go  to  her 
with  my  love  as  my  studies.  She  smiled  and  sympa 
thized.  My  earnest,  headstrong  nature  must  have 
absorbed  hers.  I  cannot  otherwise  account  for 
her  yielding  so  fully  to  all  my  whims.  If  she 
reasoned,  it  was  so  gently  and  affectionately,  that 
while  it  made  me  love  her  the  more,  it  failed  to 
make  me  love  my  desire  the  less.  This  would  not 
have  been  so,  had  there  been  anything  really  ex 
ceptionable  in  my  actions.  Seeing  me  happy  and 
well  employed  at  the  moment,  she  did  not  perhaps 
look  sufficiently  into  the  future. 

Emotions  of  a  new  and  more  delightful  character 
were  now  filling  my  heart  and  head  with  fresh  joys 
and  hopes.  The  enthusiasm  with  which  I  talked  to 
Constantia  of  my  plans  for  mankind,  my  desires  to 
be  useful,  inoculating  her  with  my  own  tastes  arid 
thirst  for  knowledge,  completely  captivated  her 
fancy;  and  she  thought  me  a  wonderful  being,  while 
her  simple-hearted  approbation  and  chaste  caresses 
made  her  to  me  an  angel.  Our  thoughts  and  feel 
ings  all  flowed  in  simple,  healthful  currents.  The 


136  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

better  part  of  our  two  natures  at  the  most  instinct 
ively  disinterested  periods  of  our  lives  were  mutu 
ally  acting  and  reacting,  fanning  our  love,  and 
making  our  little  world  a  Paradise.  We  were  two 
innocent  children,  hand  in  hand,  plucking  flowers  by 
a  sunny  roadside. 

If,  reader,  before  you  have  sounded  your  own 
heart,  or  have  actually  entered  upon  the  conflicts 
between  imagination  and  worldly  reality,  you  have 
known  a  simple,  trustful,  pure  love,  you  can  then 
judge  of  the  pleasure  which  now  filled  mine.  It 
carried  us  forward  to  the  future.  Unless  God  could 
perpetuate  our  union  in  all  eternity,  we  felt  that  we 
should  be  miserable  now.  We  loved  so  ardently,  it 
seemed  to  us  He  could  not  help  doing  it ;  and  every 
line  of  poetry  that  favored  such  an  idea  was  pen 
cilled  and  prized  as  if  it  were  sacred  prophecy. 

Do  you  not  recollect  those  evening  walks,  Con- 
stantia,  when  so  often,  under  the  shade  of  those 
venerable  elms,  we  in  silence  pressed  each  other's 
hands,  unable  to  speak,  from  the  very  fulness  of 
overflowing  hearts ;  and  that  when  we  spoke  our 
mouths  uttered  the  same  thought  at  the  same  mo 
ment,  as  if  but  one  soul  animated  our  bodies,  and 
we  turned  our  eyes  wondrously  towards  each  oth 
er's,  full  of  joy  at  love's  phenomenon  ? 

Tell  me,  sympathizing  trees,  how  many  hearts, 
before  and  since,  ye  have  witnessed  do  the  same  ! 
Tell  me,  too,  what  sundered  those  hearts,  and  why 
did  they  meet  thus  only  to  separate  ! 

How  often  Constantia,  with  your  head  reposing 
on  my  shoulder,  eyes  melting  with  loveliness, 


A   HUMAN   CACTUS.  137 

every  nerve  vibrating  in  harmonious  accord  to 
the  pleasure  that  thrilled  your  soul,  —  our  souls,  I 
should  say,  —  have  you  confessed  how  wonderful  was 
love,  for  it  made  you  kinder  to  all,  even  to  the  most 
indifferent  person;  —  how  that  you  feared  I  should 
become  too  great  and  too  good  for  such  a  simple, 
wilful  girl  as  yourself;  and  how  I  kissed  away  the 
thought,  and  made  you  feel,  by  my  flattering  elo 
quence,  that  never  before  in  a  woman's  body  had 
been  intrusted  so  refined,  noble,  true  a  spirit  as 
yours !  Did  we  not  both  believe  all  this  of  each 
other,  and  much  more  ?  Alas !  it  was  all  true  — 
then! 

Our  only  clouds  arose  from  our  frequent  separa 
tions.  We  lived  in  separate  towns,  and  could  not 
meet  as  often  as  we  wished.  Indeed,  could  we  have 
fulfilled  our  desires,  we  should  have  been  hinged 
together,  like  a  bivalve  shell,  enclosing  but  one 
big  pearl  of  a  soul  between  us.  As  that  was  not 
possible,  the  mail  groaned  beneath  our  letters. 
Every  time  I  went  for  mine,  I  fancied  the  post 
man  smiled  knowingly  at  me  ;  and  even  the  crowd 
about  had  to  my  eyes  a  half-comical,  half-sympa 
thetic  look,  which  somewhat  abashed  me.  Con- 
stantia  has  since  told  me,  if  I  had  proved  only  half 
as  good  as  my  letters,  she  should  have  never  — 
I  dare  say  she  was  quite  right. 

Hers  were  exceedingly  tender,  but  filled  with  a 
more  prosaic  view  of  life  than  mine.  Equipages, 
dress,  and  the  table,  had  a  decidedly  mathematical 
valuation  in  her  mind.  Sometimes  she  got  into  a 
transitory  sentimental  view,  spoke  rapturously  of 


138  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

love  for  its  own  sake,  and  even  hinted  at  the  delights 
of  a  cottage  life,  with  a  charming  naivete  that  be 
witched  me.  Yet  a  dash  of  melancholy  would  even 
on  these  occasions  mingle  with  my  dreams  of  bliss, 
as  if  there  were  somewhere  a  lurking  falsehood. 

Whatever  were  her  wishes,  my  dearest  ambition 
was  to  be  able  to  gratify  them.  Her  sympathies 
were  equally  warmly  enlisted  in  all  my  plans.  She 
was  sure  I  must  succeed  in  all,  because  they  were  so 
noble  and  I  was  so  good ;  and  I  was  sure  she  would 
have  all  the  happiness  she  coveted,  because  she  was 
so  beautiful  and  loving. 

Once  or  twice  I  fancied  she  coquetted  somewhat ; 
but  she  had  such  a  charming  way  of  explaining  her 
actions,  that  before  she  had  spoken  half  a  dozen 
words  I  had  quite  forgotten  my  cause  of  reproach. 
We  had  but  few  of  these  differences,  but  I  came 
out  of  every  one  more  hopelessly  than  ever  in  love. 
The  delicious  little  witch  —  she  conquered  in  every 
thing  !  It  was  as  useless  to  differ  from  her  as  to 
fight  a  rainbow. 

My  prospects  from  the  wealth  of  my  father  were 
very  satisfactory  to  her.parents  ;  so  they  encouraged 
my  passion.  Besides,  they  rather  liked  me.  As  for 
myself,  in  my  innocence  of  financial  matters,  I  never 
once  took  them  into  consideration,  but  considered 
it  was  quite  sufficient  to  have  found  an  angel  to  love 
me,  and  heaven  would  supply  all  our  wants,  as  it  did 
the  birds. 

There  is  a  pleasure  in  this  first  experience  of  in 
nocent  emotions,  as  they  spring  naturally  from  the 
heart,  so  full  of  repose  and  confidence,  because  as 


A   HUMAN   CACTUS.  139 

yet  unsoiled  by  sordid  care  or  vulgar  necessities, 
and  with  passions  which  warm  the  blood  only  to 
generous  instincts  and  pure  desires,  that  no  other 
age  can  rival.  We  are  then  Adam  and  Eve  with  the 
fruit  of  the  tree  of  knowledge  still  untasted. 

I  had  a  friend.  It  would  be  more  proper  to  say, 
a  friend  had  me.  His  name  was  Jonathan  Plaster. 
He  was  rabid  with  friendship.  It  was  a  mania  with 
him  to  make  friends,  and  to  intermeddle  in  all  their 
aifairs  as  a  proof  of  his  esteem.  He  had  a  way  of 
appropriating  you,  your  effects,  and  even  your  will, 
that  was  quite  unique  and  irresistible.  For  instance, 
if  he  saw  on  your  table  a  choice  cigar-case,  or  any 
thing  that  struck  his  fancy  at  the  moment  as  being 
just  the  thing  he  would  like  to  bestow  upon  another 
of  his  friends,  even  though  it  had  been  a  gift  to 
you,  he  would  take  it,  without  further  ado  than  say 
ing,  "  Ah  !  this  is  exactly  what  I  want  to  give  to  X 
or  B." 

His  generosity,  in  turn,  would,  perhaps,  bring  you 
back  something  that  you  were  as  much  at  a  loss  to 
dispose  of  as  the  man  who  had  the  elephant  given 
to  him.  But  he  was  a  handsome,  eloquent,  pertina 
cious  fellow,  rich  withal  in  his  own  right ;  and  one 
might  as  well  try  to  relieve  himself  from  the  grasp 
of  a  monster  cuttle-fish  as  from  his  friendship,  when 
once  he  had  marked  hrs  victim. 

The  enthusiasm  with  which  he  used  to  lecture  — 
for  his   conversation  was  in  general  a   monologue 
after  that  form  —  upon  the  noble  delights  of  friend 
ship  quite  electrified  me.     He  fairly  made  himself 
my  confidant  before  I  knew  him ;  and  discovered  for 


140  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

me  so  many  new  sensations,  and  talked  so  much  of 
what  was  heroic  and  disinterested  in  a  soul  like 
his,  and  had  such  grand  views  of  universal  philan 
thropy,  that  I  considered  him  a  prodigy.  He  be 
lieved  it  all  himself,  and  that  helped  make  you 
believe  it. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

A   SELF-IMPOSED    FRIEND  ?  —  I  *M    OFF  ! 

MY  self-imposed  friend  was  not  long  in  discover 
ing  my  passion.  I  did  not  tell  it  to  him,  for  there 
was  but  one  beside  Constantia  to  whom  I  confided 
my  feelings.  The  clue  once  given,  was  all  that 
Jonathan  needed.  His  own  imagination  did  the  rest. 
All  that  he  thought  should  be  felt  by  any  one  un 
der  such  circumstances,  according  to  his  standard, 
he  attributed  to  me.  If  I  had  been  so  disposed,  I 
might  have  loved  vicariously,  through  him.  He  lit 
tle  knew  my  true  feelings;  and  was  too  impatient  to 
have  listened  to  my  confessions,  had  I  been  disposed 
to  make  them.  His  individuality  was  a  perfect  boa- 
constrictor.  It  enveloped  in  its  own  skin  everything 
it  attacked. 

I  do  not  think  it  ever  occurred  to  him  that  any 
thing  he  could  do  or  say  was  not  the  best  and  wisest 
thing  to  be  said  or  done,  and  as  heartily  prized  by 
every  one  else  as  by  himself.  He  meant  well  in 
everything;  and,  could  he  have  melted  the  whole 
world  into  his  own  particular  crucible,  he  would 
have  generously  bestowed  upon  it  all  the  happiness 
such  a  process  could  confer.  The  specific  form  of 


142  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

his  mania,  when  I  knew  him,  was  to  make  people 
happy,  whether  they  wished  it  or  not.  I  thought  I 
knew  the  virtues  of  my  beloved  pretty  thoroughly 
before  he  met  me,  but  I  was  mistaken.  He  had  no 
sooner  introduced  himself  to  her,  which  he  travelled 
some  distance  to  do,  than  he  took  us  both  under  his 
patronage,  as  a  pair  of  turtle-doves,  whose  happi 
ness  it  was  his  special  duty  to  provide  for  and  sus 
tain. 

Bless  me,  how  many  new  refinements  of  love 
liness  he  discovered  in  Constantia,  and  how  much 
capacity  for  appreciating  them  in  myself!  At  first, 
she  did  not  much  relish  his  officious  freedom ;  but, 
upon  the  strength  of  my  assurances  that  he  was 
the  paragon  of  friends,  a  little  eccentric  withal,  she 
gradually  grew  cordial,  and  at  last  was  persuaded  of 
his  good  intentions. 

Unfortunately,  my  nature  is  not  sufficiently  sus 
picious  for  self-protection.  I  accept  everything  at 
face,  believing  it  to  be  either  what  it  seems  or  I 
wish.  Without  being  pleased  with  Jonathan's  free 
manners,  I  acquiesced  in  his  professions.  Indeed, 
he  was  sincere,  only  there  were  more  sound  than 
substance,  and  selfishness  of  purpose  than  wisdom 
of  design.  He  was  pampering  his  native  weakness, 
when  he  should  have  sought  to  have  subdued  it. 

My  chief  weakness  was  of  an  opposite  character, 
being  based  upon  a  morbid  sensitiveness,  which  was 
very  curious  in  discovering  causes  of  unhappiness 
where  in  reality  none  existed,  or,  if  they  did,  more  in 
my  own  unfortunate  temperament  than  the  motives 
of  others.  This  prompted  me  sometimes  to  accuse 


A  SELF-IMPOSED   FRIEND  ?  —  I  'M   OFF  !  143 

Constantia  of  trifling,  or  to  quarrel  with  Jonathan 
for  his  forwardness ;  but  reason  would   say  "  you 
are  a  fool/'  and  so  I  kept  quiet,  when  a  little  resist 
ance  would  have  been  wholesome  for  all  parties. 
I  never  felt  wholly  at  ease  when  he  was  with  us. 
His  intense  animal  spirits  and  exhaustless  egoism 
agreed  better  with  the  vivacious  and  pleasure-loving 
temperament  of  Constantia  than  my  half-romantic  and 
half-melancholy  nature,  aspiring  always  to  the  more 
serious  and  reflective  views  of  existence.     He  had, 
however,  framed  for  himself  so  exalted  and  disin 
terested  an  idea  of  his  friendship  for  us,  that  he 
would  have  sworn  sooner  to  have  killed  himself  than 
to  have  entertained  a  thought  foreign  to  our  happi 
ness.     He  had  another  advantage  of  me,  in  possess 
ing  more  of  that  masculine  force  of  character  which 
carries  captive  so  easily  the  wills  of  women  in  gen 
eral.     My  relations  with  my  mother  had  been  so 
intimate  that  my  feelings  had  acquired  a   certain 
feminine  element,  which  almost  amounted  to  timid 
ity,  in  the  deference  I  had  for  her  sex,  and  the  esti 
mate  I  put  upon  their  virtue  and  fidelity.     For  men 
to  be  coarse,  false,  and  selfish,  was  very  possible ; 
but  for  women,  quite  the  contrary.    When  Jonathan 
was  with  me  alone,  he  made  me  happy  by  his  praises 
of  Constantia,  and  the  eagerness  with  which  he  pic 
tured  to  me  a  future  fraught  with  every  blessing 
from  her  love.     Her  letters  were  often  filled  with 
the  flattering  things  he  had  said  to  her  of  me.     But 
his  chief  forte  was  to  discourse  of  the  wonderful 
joys  of  a  youthful  passion  such  as  ours,  fostered  as 
it  was  by  so  rare  a  friendship.    To  hear  him  talk  on 


144  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

both  sides  of  the  question,  one  would  suppose  he 
combined  both  the  male  and  female  principle,  and 
was  in  himself  all  that  was  necessary  to  a  complete 
existence.  He  was  a  rare  theorizer,  and  practised 
philanthropy  as  another  would  have  the  piano,  for 
his  amusement. 

As  I  drew  near  my  nineteenth  year,  my  father 
began  to  be  impatient  at  my  condition  of  mind  and 
body,  neither  of  which  augured  anything  very 
favorable  for  the  future.  He  would  have  made  a 
merchant  of  me,  in  preference  to  any  other  career, 
for  that  was  his  beau-ideal  of  a  man  —  one  who 
could  have  succeeded  to  his  enterprise  as  well  as 
his  money.  Once  he  ordered  me  to  his  counting- 
room,  and  for  occupation  gave  me  some  accounts  to 
settle  and  collect.  But  I  so  resented  the  deport 
ment  of  one  of  his  principal  customers,  who,  as  I 
thought,  very  cavalierly  told  me  to  call  again,  when 
the  present  moment  would  have  answered  much 
better  for  me,  that  it  was  deemed  inexpedient  to 
employ  me  longer  in  that  department.  It  then  oc 
curred  to  him  that  I  might  possibly  answer  to  order 
the  dinner  at  the  butcher's.  The  first  day,  I  told 
that  domestic  functionary  "  to  send  some  meat "  to 
No.  — ^  Kosmos-square  ;  and,  for  the  future,  to  save 
me  the  trouble  of  calling,  he  could  consider  that  a 
general  order.  In  a  week  my  office  as  caterer  was 
abolished,  and  my  father,  who  loved  a  good  joint, 
undertook,  as  before,  the  selection. 

About  this  time  my  father  received  a  letter  from 
his  reverend  brother-in-law  at  Lilibolu,  informing 
him  of  an  unusual  outpouring  of  grace  among  his 


A  SELF-IMPOSED   FRIEND?— 1 7M   OFF!  145 

flock,  and  an  opening  for  a  profitable  trade  in  cali 
coes,  hardware,  and  gun-flints.  As  he  seldom  spoke 
to  me,  or  remained  at  table  after  dinner,  I  was  sur 
prised,  one  day,  after  the  cloth  was  removed,  by 
some  kind  inquiries  as  to  my  health,  and  what  occu 
pation  would  be  agreeable  to  me.  "  It  is  necessary 
for  you  to  do  something  for  a  living,'7  added  he, 
"and  we  will  now  talk  it  over.7'  My  father,  like  most 
American  parents,  could  conceive  of  no  respectable 
position  in  society  which  did  not  in  some  way  or 
other  involve  earning  money.  To  grow  rich  was 
the  highest  degree  of  usefulness,  because  it  implied 
enterprise,  shrewdness,  economy,  and  punctuality. 
He  had  no  sympathy  for  mental  culture,  otherwise 
than  as  promotive  of  the  material  progress  of  the 
country.  Consequently,  as  an  idle  lad,  I  was  an 
eye-sore  to  him.  He  would  have  reconciled  himself 
to  one  of  the  learned  professions  for  me ;  but  to  de 
velop  into  an  amateur  scholar  was  in  his  view  little 
short  of  downright  immorality. 

He  was  not  peculiar  in  this.  Even  now  American 
society  barely  tolerates  the  mere  gentleman,  how 
ever  refined  his  tastes,  or  the  simple  student,  who 
pursues  knowledge  for  its  own  sake.  They  are 
both  more  or  less  under  a  social  ban.  Society  re 
quires  practical,  tangible  proofs  from  its  constituents 
of  being  engaged  in  some  pursuit  intelligible  and 
useful  to  the  mass,  otherwise  it  will  not  respect 
you.  The  philosopher,  equally  as  well  as  the  man 
who  lives  merely  for  the  artistic  or  high-bred  en 
joyments  of  social  life,  have  as  yet  no  real  home  in 
13 


146  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

America.     Would  that  we  could  say  the  same  of 
their  opposites,  the  fanatic  and  the  rowdy  1 

I  was  myself  imbued  with  so  much  of  my  father's 
spirit  as  to  chafe  exceedingly  at  my  forced  idleness. 
I  longed  for  action,  but  the  pursuits  he  had  hereto 
fore  suggested  to  me  were  so  repugnant  to  my 
instincts,  that  nothing  but  failure  could  have  come 
from  them.  To  get  rich  myself,  that  I  might  enjoy 
my  tastes  in  my  own  way,  and,  above  all,  to  sur 
round  Constantia  with  the  elegance  for  which  she 
was  so  suited,  had  latterly,  as  a  sense  of  responsibil 
ity  in  regard  to  the  future  arose  within  me,  been  my 
daily  and  nightly  dream.  To  be  dependent  upon 
even  my  father  fretted  me.  I  would  carve  out  my 
own  fortune  in  some  romantic  way.  But  my  partial 
blindness  and  disordered  health  disconcerted  all  my 
fine  projects. 

"  Katilan,"  continued  my  father,  "  read  this  from 
your  uncle  ;  "  and  he  handed  me  the  letter  above 
referred  to.  The  following  passages  particularly 
struck  my  attention :  "  The  king  of  our  group, 
Kauli,  has  an  ardent  desire  to  be  instructed  in  civil 
ized  life,  and  to  make  his  people  conform  to  the  cus 
toms  and  habits  of  the  whites.  He  has  bestowed 
upon  my  brethren  large  tracts  of  land,  which,  by 
the  blessing  of  God,  we  hope  to  make  useful  to 
his  people,  by  raising  cattle,  the  establishment  of 
schools,  and  even  a  college.  Divine  grace  is  spread 
ing  everywhere.  Six  more  of  the  principal  chiefs 
have  pledged  themselves  not  to  marry  their  sisters ; 
several  have  agreed  to  give  up  all  their  wives  ex 
cept  one  ;  and  many  of  their  people  wear  breeches, 


A  SELF-IMPOSED   FRIEND  ?  —  I  'M   OFF  !  147 

when  they  can  get  them,  especially  on  Sundays,  and 
the  increase  of  red  cotton  petticoats  among  the 
women  is  very  encouraging  to  morals.  We  need 
some  pious  trader  to  help  our  efforts  by  offering  to 
supply  the  growing  wants  of  the  natives  and  ours  at 
reasonable  prices.  The  Lord  will  assuredly  prosper 
him.  He  will  receive  the  countenance  of  the  entire 
mission,  and  they  number  already,  chiefly  through 
my  unworthy  instrumentality,  five  thousand  church- 
members.  Cannot  you  aid  us,  brother,  out  of  your 
abundant  means  ? 

"  Popo,  the  heathen  chief  in  the  interior,  who  has 
so  long  opposed  our  labors,  was  shot  a  month  ago 
by  a  party  of  Christians,  whom  he  was  about  to 
attack.  Since  then  the  Gospel  has  been  favorably 
listened  to  among  his  tribe. 

"  I  have  to  add  that  our  youngest  child  fell  from  a 
canoe  last  week,  and  was  instantly  bitten  in  two  by 
a  shark.  The  Lord  ordereth  all  things  for  the  best. 

"  P.  S.  Kauli  has  accumulated  a  large  amount  of 
silver  dollars  by  the  sale  of  sandal-wood,  and  the 
fines  of  women  caught  in  fornication,  which  he 
wishes  to  invest  in  a  fast  vessel  or  a  yacht." 

The  postscript  was  the  part  of  the  letter  that 
my  father  most  cared  for.  Secondly,  he  thought 
favorably  of  sending  an  agent  to  open  trade. 

"  How  would  you  like  to  go  and  seek  your  for 
tune  in  the  South  Seas,  Katilan  ?  "  he  inquired.  "  The 
voyage  and  climate  would  be  just  what  you  need 
for  your  health  ;  and,  if  you  are  enterprising  and 
steady,  you  will  be  sure  to  become  rich." 

While  these  ideas  were  suggested  by  my  father, 


148  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

mine  were  dwelling  upon  the  novelty  of  such  a 
field  ;  the  desire  to  see  the  world ;  to  make  myself 
a  civilizer ;  to  collect  all  sorts  of  curiosities  ;  to  be 
come  famous,  return  and  claim  Constantia  as  my 
bride,  and  take  her  back  to  be  queen  of  my  king 
dom  •  —  in  short,  while  my  father  was  casting  the 
probabilities  of  a  moneyed  speculation,  I  was  specu 
lating  in  anything  but  the  thought  of  gaining  dollars. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  I  said,  "  I  should 
be  delighted  to  go."  I  had  about  as  practical  an 
idea  of  what  I  had  to  encounter,  and  what  was  re 
quired  of  me  to  get  rich  in  such  a  field,  as  a  Poly 
nesian  has  of  the  etiquette  of  the  Escurial.  My  ven 
tures  in  life  have  all  been  after  this  hap-hazard 
sort. 

"  It  is  settled,  then,"  replied  my  father ;  "  in  a 
week  the  vessel  will  be  ready  for  sea.  I  shall  put  on 
board  a  small  adventure,  which  you  are  to  have  the 
sole  control  of.  Be  sharp  and  prudent,  and  you  can 
turn  it  to  great  profit.  I  hear  that  needles  and  jews- 
harps  bring  amazing  prices  among  those  savages. 
When  you  are  at  sea,  look  out  for  the  blocks  aloft. 
Should  one  tumble  upon  you,  it  might  kill  you." 

Such  were  my  instructions  for  a  voyage  of  twenty 
thousand  miles,  and  an  absence  of  years.  We  nei 
ther  felt  the  slightest  grief  at  parting ;  yet  my  father 
loved  me  in  his  way,  and  I  had  a  great  respect  for 
him.  It  required  all  the  authority  of  my  father,  and 
my  own  determination  to  attempt  life  for  myself,  to 
reconcile  my  mother  to  my  absence.  She  yielded  a 
reluctant  consent,  and  busied  herself  in  a  thousand 
preparations  for  my  comfort  on  the  voyage.  Con- 


A   SELF-IMPOSED   FRIEND  ?  —  I  'll   OFF  !  149 

stantia  was  at  first  inconsolable.  "  I  cannot  let  you 
go,  dearest  Lanie ! "  she  said,  and  pressed  me  again 
and  again  to  her  heart.  By  degrees,  the  romantic 
picture  I  drew  of  my  success,  in  which  she  was  to 
share  so  conspicuously,  in  that  delicious  climate,  so 
like  a  paradise,  overcame  her  opposition,  and  she 
even  encouraged  my  ardor. 

In  this  Jonathan  helped  me.  His  imagination 
was,  if  possible,  more  fertile  than  mine ;  and  he  told 
her  such  wonderful  stories  of  that  part  of  the  world, 
that  she  at  last  wished  to  go  herself,  and  was  soothed 
into  remaining  only  by  the  prospect  of  my  speedy 
return  to  marry  her,  and  give  her  an  opportunity  of 
enjoying  all  the  advantages  of  a  residence  in  Poly 
nesia. 

Jonathan  vowed  disinterested  friendship  to  both 
of  us.  He  was  to  be  our  Mercury,  — to  convey  to 
her  all  news  of  me,  to  despatch  her  letters  to  me, 
and  console  her  during  my  absence.  He  fancied 
himself  so  happy  in  being  able  to  give  such  proofs 
of  his  devotion,  with  so  high  a  sense  of  honor  at 
such  a  trust,  that  I  almost  envied  his  character  as 
a  friend. 

At  parting,  he  embraced  me  like  a  lover.  Con- 
stantia  cried,  smiled,  was  sad  and  merry  by  turns. 
She  was  very  excited  when  she  threw  herself  into 
my  arms  for  the  last  time,  clung  to  me,  and  said, 
"  Don't  go  !  "  and  then  looking  up,  added,  "  It  is  too 

late  ;  you  must.  Love  me  always,  and "  Here 

a  hysteric  laugh  choked  her,  and  she  could  say  no 
more.  I  clung  to  her  convulsively,  for  my  heart 
struggled  to  remain,  while  my  will  tore  me  away. 
13* 


150  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

I  frantically  kissed  her  closed  eyes  and  cold  lips, 
pressed  her  hands,  jumped  into  my  carriage  without 
daring  to  look  back,  sunk  an  inert  mass  upon  the 
back  seat,  and  gasped  for  breath.  This  struggle 
was  succeeded  by  a  numbness  of  brain,  which 
haunted  me  like  an  evil  omen.  A  mental  cloud  I 
could  not  pierce  settled  between  me  and  Constantia ; 
but  why  I  could  not  tell.  It  was  the  more  torment 
ing  from  its  mystery. 

How  different  was  the  parting  from  my  mother ! 
When  I  came  for  her  farewell  blessing,  she  simply 
kissed  me  once,  pressed  me  to  her  bosom,  but  re 
fused  to  say  good-by.  "  You  know,"  said  she,  "  I 
never  say  good-by,  Lanie  j  you  are  always  with  me. 
God  bless  you,  dearest  boy,  and  may  you  realize  all 
our  hopes  !  Take  this ;  "  and  as  she  passed  into  her 
chamber,  giving  me  a  bright,  hopeful  look  to  the  last, 
she  handed  me  a  Bible  with  her  name  in  it,  and  all 
her  favorite  passages  underscored.  I  need  not  say 
they  became  mine.  Indeed,  I  had  long  known  them 
by  heart.  It  became  my  travelling  companion  for 
many,  many  years,  and  when  it  was  finally  robbed 
from  me,  with  the  rest  of  my  baggage,  in  Mexico,  I 
grieved  over  it  as  if  I  had  lost  a  personal  friend. 

My  father  saw  me  off.  As  the  topsails  were 
sheeted  home,  he  shook  hands  with  me,  and  called 
out,  as  he  jumped  on  to  the  wharf,  "  You  '11  find  your 
invoice  among  the  ship's  papers  •  let  us  hear  from 
you  as  soon  as  possible,  Lanie."  It  was  the  first 
and  only  time  he  called  me  by  that  familiar  name. 


CHAPTEK    XIX. 

A   NEW   FIELD. 

A  LOVELY  tropical  morning,  five  months  to  a  day 
after  my  father  had  called  me  Lame,  found  us  off 
Lilibolu.     Our  vessel,  a  taunt  clipper  brig,  mount 
ing   ten   guns,   with   boarding-nets,   and   the   usual 
armament  for  a  trading  voyage  in  these  uncertain 
seas,  with  her  topsails  settled  down  upon  the  mast 
heads,  rolled  uneasily  along  the  breakers,  with  a 
fresh  trade-wind  upon  her  quarter.     The  reefs,  cov 
ered  with  foam,  and  trembling  under  the  shock  of 
the  recoiling  waves,  extended  nearly  a  mile  from 
the  land.     Their  solemn,  prolonged  thunder,  inter 
mingled  with  the   strong  gusts  that  came  down  the 
narrow  valleys,  driving  the  salt  foam  before  them, 
and  whooping  and  shrieking  through  the   rigging, 
delighted  me  with  their  wild  symphony.     On  one 
side    was    a    rough,    hissing,   white-crested    ocean, 
bounded  only  by  the  horizon.     On  the  other  arose 
mountains,  with   sharp  volcanic   summits,   covered 
with  dense  forests.     The  bottoms  of  their  rich  val 
leys  still  lay  in  deep  shadow ;  for  the  sun  as  yet  only 
lit  up  the  loftiest  peaks,  and   sparkled  to  the  lee 
ward  upon  the  far-off  waters.     Two  lofty  extinct 


152  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

volcanoes,  whose  red  precipitous  sides  were  lashed 
by  the  waves,  stood  like  leviathan  watch-towers 
along  the  coast.  There  was  a  marked  individuality 
about  these  two  old  earth-chimneys  that  particularly 
struck  me.  I  never  could  divest  myself  of  the  idea 
that  they  were  not  conscious  existences.  For  years 
I  came  to  see  the  rising  and  setting  sun  alternately 
warming  up  their  picturesque  outlines  and  slowly 
consigning  them  to  the  gloom  of  night ;  and  they 
always  affected  me  the  same  as  when  I  first  saw 
them.  Once  savage  and  treacherous,  like  the  people 
that  clustered  around  their  base,  they  are  now  dor 
mant  and  decaying,  furnishing  from  their  debris  the 
soil  that  sustains  the  spreading  vegetation  at  their 
feet.  So  I  afterwards  found  it  to  be  with  the  abo 
rigines.  Volcano  and  native  had  had  their  day, 
and  their  purpose  of  existence  was  finished.  Iron- 
fisted  Change  was  slowly  destroying  both,  to  make 
way  for  immutable  Progress.  I  sympathized  with 
these  forlorn  old  fire-mountains,  thus  perishing 
piecemeal,  as  I  did  for  the  savage  who  was  under 
going  the  same  destiny.  Both  had  fulfilled  their 
natural  laws,  and  were  now  being  placed  by  inexora 
ble  Nature  on  the  shelf. 

In  the  early  twilight  the  tall  palm-trees  that  lined 
the  coast,  with  their  tops  nodding  majestically  in  the 
wind,  looked  like  vegetable  phantoms,  beckoning  us 
to  approach.  Beneath  them  could  just  be  discerned 
clusters  of  native  huts.  A  rapid  river  marked  the 
course  of  the  principal  valley.  At  its  mouth  was 
Lilibolu. 

The  "  Swallow,"  as   our  brig  was  called,  drove 


A  NEW  FIELD.  153 

rapidly  on  towards  the  surf.  There  seemed  to  be  no 
outlet  —  or  rather  inlet  —  towards  the  coast;  yet  I 
could  make  out  a  cluster  of  masts  near  the  town. 
Suddenly,  a  canoe  shot  from  out  of  the  breakers,  vig 
orously  propelled  by  six  lusty  natives,  and  came  rap 
idly  towards  us.  They  were  the  first  specimens  of 
Polynesians  I  had  seen,  and  I  greatly  admired  their 
muscular  figures,  bronzed  skins,  and  the  ease  and 
skill  with  which  they  managed  their  frail  vessel. 

As  we  luffed  a  couple  of  points  to  near  them,  they 
dropped  along-side,  and  the  only  one  who  wore  a 
shirt — the  rest  being  naked  to  their  malos,  or 
waistcloths,  —  shouted,  in  broken  English,  "  Capi- 
tanee  !  me  pilot !  —  want  him  ?  " 

"  Ay  !  ay  !  "  roared  our  skipper.  "  Let  her  come 
to,  —  be  handy  about  it ! "  said  he  to  the  helms 
man. 

We  were  low  in  the  water,  and,  as  our  vessel  lost 
headway,  the  pilot  caught  at  the  chains,  and  jumped 
upon  the  deck.  He  knew  his  business,  for,  without 
stopping  to  pay  his  respects  to  any  one,  he  seized 
the  wheel,  and  shouted,  as  he  gave  it  several  spokes, 
"  Weather  braces,  pull !  wiki-wiki,  loa,  quick  !  " 

As  the  "  Swallow  "  paid  off,  a  huge  comber,  with 
out  warning,  broke  under  her  counter,  and  all  but 
put  her  on  her  beam  ends.  Five  minutes  more  on 
the  course  she  was  steering  would  have  shivered 
her  to  pieces  on  the  coral  reef. 

"  Jerusalem,  Lanie,  we  came  nigh  tasting  salt 
water  that  time  !  Who  the  devil  would  have  thought 
the  reef  made  out  after  that  fashion  ?  "  said  the  cap- 


154:  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

tain  to  me.  It  was  his  first  voyage  to  the  South 
Seas,  and  he  was  unaccustomed  to  its  coast  perils. 

"  What's  your  name,  pilot?"  said  he,  turning  to 
that  individual. 

"  '  Pea-Jakete,'  the  skippers  call  me  ;  at  church, 
mikonaree  me  call  Timote  ;  "  by  which  he  meant 
Timothy. 

"  Never  mind  what  the  missionary  calls  you. 
Pea-Jacket,  can  you  take  the  Swallow  inside  the 
reef?" 

"  Me  take  him  in  all  right,  Capitanee.  Me  all  same 
as  one  fish  here." 

As  we  shot  along,  the  pilot  ordered  more  sail  to  be 
made ;  and,  upon  reaching  a  point  in  the  reef  which 
made  well  out  into  deep  water,  we  discovered  a  nar 
row  passage,  into  which,  after  giving  her  a  good  rap 
full,  he  suddenly  luffed  the  brig,  bracing  the  yards 
flat  against  the  backstays.  The  sails  shivered,  but 
she  shot  ahead  into  smooth  water ;  and,  by  paying 
her  off  once  or  twice  for  a  few  times  her  length,  to 
gain  headway,  and  luffing  again,  Pea-Jacket  very 
cleverly  brought  the  vessel  into  as  fine  a  harbor  as 
could  be  desired,  and  we  dropped  anchor  amid  sev 
eral  other  craft,  most  of  which  bore  the  new  flag  of 
King  Kauli. 

Lilibolu  was  a  strange  place  at  this  date.  It  was 
in  a  transition  state  between  heathenism  and  mis- 
sionaryism ;  and,  though  the  two  parties  had  ceased 
to  fight  with  carnal,  they  were  none  the  less  bitter 
with  their  lingual  weapons.  To  me,  coming  from 
America  to  Lilibolu  was  like  stepping  back  from 
the  nineteenth  century  into  the  chaotic  barbarism 


A   NEW  FIELD.  155 

of  the  Heptarchy.  It  was  a  curious  experience,  and 
a  picture  of  it  may  amuse  you. 

Conceive  a  thousand  or  more  thatched  huts,  look 
ing  like  geometrical  hay-stacks,  most  of  them  low 
and  filthy  in  the  extreme,  scattered  higgledy-piggledy 
over  a  plain,  and  along  the  banks  of  a  scanty  river, 
surrounded  in  general  with  dilapidated  mud-walls, 
and  inhabited  by  a  mixed  population  of  curs,  pigs, 
Shanghae  poultry,  and  unwashed  natives,  on  a  foot 
ing  as  to  sexes  and  conditions,  of  liberty,  fraternity f 
and  equality,  that  would  have  gladdened  the  heart 
of  the  reddest  republican,  and  you  have  the  ground- 
plan  of  Lilibolu.  Here  and  there  a  white  trader, 
mechanic,  or  sailor,  had  squatted,  taken  to  himself 
a  tawny  mistress,  —  who,  by  the  connection,  found 
her  general  condition  as  much  raised  above  the  mass 
of  her  sisters  as  is  that  of  an  Italian  countess  above  a 
contadina,  —  and  made  to  himself  a  mongrel  home,  in 
which  the  comforts  and  conveniences  of  his  mother 
land  were  oddly  blended  with  the  'necessities  and 
fashions  of  his  adopted  country.  There  were  a  few 
shops,  stores,  and  houses,  of  stone  or  wood,  Orient 
alized  externally  by  spacious  verandas,  and  numer 
ous  doors  and  windows,  and  internally  presenting 
a  medley  of  native  mats  and  divans,  furniture  from 
China,  France,  or  New  England,  and  merchandise  in 
homoeopathic  doses  from  the  four  quarters  of  the 
globe,  all  strewed  about  in  sailor-like  prodigality,  or 
assorted  with  the  right-angular  and  graceless  system 
of  a  Yankee  pedler. 

A  few  white  women  had  followed  their  adventur 
ous  husbands  hither,  and,  with  their  Parisian  hats 


156  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

and  boots,  their  rosy  faces  and  boundless  hospitality, 
despite  much  domestic  discomfort,  made  quite  a 
social  oasis  amid  the  general  dirt  and  barbarism.  As 
the  streets  or  lanes  were  in  general  almost  impass 
able  to  their  tender  feet,  on  account  of  the  hot,  deep 
dust,  their  visits  or  shoppings  were  made  in  little, 
low,  four-wheeled  carriages,  drawn  by  natives,  who, 
out  of  compliment  to  their  mistresses,  consented  to 
mount  short-flapped  shirts  when  in  service.  A  white 
woman  in  full  toilet  was  still  a  sufficient  curiosity 
to  attract  a  crowd  •  consequently,  if  one  went  out, 
she  was  soon  surrounded  with  a  cortege  of  men  and 
maidens,  more  or  less  in  a  state  of  nudity,  all  bent 
upon  studying  the  fashions  with  an  eagerness  pro 
portioned  to  their  own  want  of  clothing. 

This  sight  at  first  struck  me  with  as  much  surprise 
as  did,  but  the  other  day,  the  jet-black  Hindoo  a 
newly-arrived  English  lady,  upon  his  quietly  taking 
his  seat  next  to  her  on  an  Indian  railway,  stark 
naked  except  his  turban.  Unlike  her,  however,  the 
contrast  between  the  simple  blue  cotton  petticoat  of 
the  Polynesian  maiden,  so  low  and  short  as  to  dis 
play  rather  than  hide  her  charms,  and  the  mass  of 
millinery  that  enveloped  her  white  sister,  amused  me, 
and  set  me  to  cogitating  upon  the  comparative  merits 
of  civilization  and  barbarism.  But  the  English  lady 
arose,  and,  emphatically  expressing  her  disgust  and 
indignation,  left  the  cars,  and  sued  the  directors  for 
damages  for  being  interrupted  on  her  journey.  The 
court  sagely  decided  that,  if  she  travelled  on  an  In 
dian  railway,  her  sensibilities  must  be  at  her  own  risk. 

A  few  of  the  chiefs  had  attempted  crude  imita- 


A  NEW  FIELD.  157 

tions  of  foreign  houses,  but  most  of  them  were 
lodged  in  more  ample  and  better-constructed  straw 
huts  than  the  common  sort.     Some  were  really  very 
neat  and  attractive  in  their  way,  and  far  more   con 
venient  and  comfortable  to  their  owners  than  the 
more    ambitious    experiments    of    those   who    had 
thrown  away  their  money  upon  foreign  mechanics. 
The  exterior  of  these  were,  in  general,  more  or  less 
dilapidated,  and  the   grounds  about  them  parched 
and  barren.     Their  interiors  presented  an  incongru 
ous  mixture  of  white  and  native  habits  and  articles. 
Huge  state-beds  to  look  at,  and  piles  of  fine  cool 
mats  to  sleep  upon.    Chairs  and  sofas  backed  rigidly 
and  uselessly  against  the  walls,  while  their  owners 
squatted   upon  the   floors.     Velvets   and  porcelain 
were  snubbed  by  tapas  and  calabashes.     Fleas  and 
other  vermin  revelled  amid  the  sweets  of  cologne 
and  otto  of  roses.     At  dinner,  you  might  be  served, 
one  day,  reclining  on  the  ground,  with  baked  dog  or 
live   fish,   by   your    own   fingers,   from   a   common 
wooden  platter;   and   the   next,   sit   uncomfortably 
upright  at  a  high  table,  horrified  at  the  rapacity  and 
awkwardness  with  which   your   aristocratic    hosts 
devoured  pate  de  foie  gras  with  the  aid   of   silver 
forks,  and  engulfed  champagne  from  the  costliest 
crystal.     But  everywhere  you  went  you  were  sure 
to  see,  conspicuously  displayed,  a  huge  Bible,  printed 
in  the  native  language.    It  had  completely  exorcised 
all  other  gods,  and  was  held  in  a  degree  of  rever 
ence  and  affection  which  gave  it  an  almost  supernat 
ural  character.     Yet  its  precepts,  though    gaining 
ground,  were  but  indifferently  appreciated  by  many 
14 


158  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

church-members.  How  could  it  be  expected  that 
these  sensuous,  sensual  natures  should  be  suddenly 
transformed  by  sermons  and  threats  into  missionary 
asceticism  !  Their  white  instructors,  in  taking  away 
their  games,  dances,  festivals,  and  wars,  had  given 
them  nothing  in  return  as  an  outlet  of  their  animal 
energies.  A  polka  or  waltz  were  proscribed,  as  the 
devices  of  the  devil.  Theatricals  were  something 
worse.  Horse-races  were  no  better  than  hell's  tour 
naments.  Even  smoking  was  made  a  capital  sin,  and 
tattooing  was  the  mark  of  the  beast.  National  songs 
and  festivals  all  smacked  of  eternal  damnation.  There 
was  absolutely  nothing  left  to  the  poor  native  for 
the  indulgence  of  his  physical  forces,  or  the  develop 
ment  of  his  intellectual,  but  that  which  he  hated 
most,  hard  labor  and  theological  reading. 

In  the  latter  his  choice  was  limited  to  the  Bible, 
a  few  hymns,  and  elementary  school-books.  The  most 
rigid  principles  of  the  most  rigid  of  Protestant  sects 
were  made  the  standard  of  salvation  for  the  most 
sensualized  of  races.  The  poor  native  was  to  labor 
to  attain  to  the  sanctity  of  men  and  women  who 
rarely  smiled  and  dared  not  joke  ;  whose  intellectual 
excitements,  in  general,  were  preaching  and  pray 
ing  ;  who  led  lives  of  rigid  abstinence  from  all  the 
usual  pleasures  of  life  ;  whose  greatest  dissipation 
was  a  tea-party,  enlivened  by  prayer  and  serious  dis 
course  ;  who  produced  and  reared  numerous  chil 
dren  in  the  same  strait-laced  way  ;  comfortable  in 
their  homes  and  tables  ;  neat,  orderly,  and  exact,  in 
every  circumstance  ;  plain,  sombre,  and  tasteless,  in 
speech,  dress,  and  deportment;  preferring,  from  prin- 


A   NEW   FIELD.  159 

ciple  the  desert  side  of  life  to  its  amenities  ;  wor 
shipping  the  Jehovah  of  Moses,  —  a  harsh,  retribu 
tive,  cruel  being,  softened  only  through  the  suffer 
ings  of  the  innocent  and  pure  Jesus,  who  was  equally 
God  and  his  son,  and  yet  neither  were  able  to  give 
salvation,  except  through  the  capricious  interven 
tion  of  a  third  god,  called  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  these 
three  were  one  god  ;  —  such,  in  brief,  were  the  exam 
ples  arid  doctrines  of  Christianity  the  astonished 
Polynesian  had  presented  to  him  to  replace  his  own 
effete  religious  system.  On  the  other  hand,  he 
had  before  him  the  careless  lives  of  numerous 
white  visitors  or  settlers,  who  resembled  the  mis 
sionaries  in  nothing  but  color.  They  neither  prayed 
nor  preached.  They  smoked,  drank,  and  were  merry, 
after  the  desires  of  their  own  flesh.  They  took  to 
themselves  wives  or  mistresses,  as  interest  or  pas 
sion  dictated.  They  labored  for  money,  but  spent 
it  freely.  Some  were  renegade  sailors,  to  whom 
the  change  from  a  forecastle  to  this1  sensuous  cli 
mate  and  sensual  people  was  a  paradise.  Others 
were  of  every  grade  in  life,  from  the  honest,  indus 
trious  mechanic,  seeking  a  competency  to  take  him 
back  to  his  own  village,  amid  the  granite  hills  of 
New  England,  where  his  constant  Susan  impatiently 
awaited  him,  to  the  intelligent  merchant  or  educated 
stranger,  who,  in  visiting  these  shores,  brought  with 
him  the  enterprise,  refinement,  and  experience, 
which  made  him  a  valuable  citizen  at  home. 

Between  the  bigoted  missionary  and  the  profane, 
licentious  renegade,  most  likely  an  escaped  Botany 
Bay  convict,  there  being  every  gradation  of  intelli- 


160  HEART-EXPEKIENCE. 

gence  and  morals,  society  was  kept  from  the  open 
warfare  or  anarchy  into  which  the  two  extremes 
would  otherwise  have  forced  it.  The  missionary  was, 
in  fact,  a  far  more  useful  and  agreeable  man  than  his 
catechism  would  indicate ;  and  the  trader  was  not  so 
bad  a  man  as  the  missionary  would  make  him  out  to 
be.  Both  were  necessary  ingredients  in  the  social 
reorganization.  The  one,  it  is  true,  protested  against 
and  would  annihilate  the  entire  past,  because  it  was 
born  of  his  mortal  enemy,  heathenism.  The  other 
served  to  keep  alive  and  give  play  to  the  inborn  in 
stincts  of  human  nature,  slowly  and  surely  refining 
them  to  the  conditions  of  civilized  life ;  and  the  mis 
sionary,  on  his  part,  as  he  better  learned  his  mission, 
fought  less  uncompromisingly  against  humanity, 
seeking  to  purify  its  impulses,  and  direct  them  to 
loftier  ends. 

When  I  arrived,  a  fierce  hostility  was  raging 
between  the  two  parties.  The  Guelf  and  Ghibel- 
line  factions  of  Italy  were  more  bloody,  but  not 
more  sincere  in  their  mutual  opposition  and  denun 
ciations.  The  missionaries  were  by  far  the  most 
powerful.  They  not  only  represented  the  progress 
ive  moral  principles  of  this  strange  society,  but 
were  bound  together  by  a  sincere  zeal  and  piety, 
against  which  their  opponents  could  only  offer  a  sort 
of  skirmishing  opposition  of  outwardly  selfish  in 
terests,  or  dubious  pleasures.  They  had,  besides, 
the  great  advantage  of  being  the  actual  government. 

When  the  missionaries  landed  on  these  islands, 
the  old  form  of  religion,  with  its  idol-worshippers, 
had  almost  quietly  died  out,  from  the  two-fold  cause 


A   NEW   FIELD.  161 

of  its  own  lost  vitality,  and  the  scepticism  of  the 
people,  derived  from  intercourse  with  white  traders. 
The  result  was  as  unbridled  a  licentiousness  and 
tyranny  as  a  sensualized  race  and  omnipotent  oli 
garchy  could  devise.  Such  influence  as  their  old 
religion  had  when  it  represented  to  a  certain  extent 
conservative  or  restraining  ideas  was  now  gone,  and 
the  aborigines  were  abandoned  to  the  anarchy  of 
their  passions,  curbed  only  by  the  selfish  interests  of 
a  tyrannical  government.  Social  corruption,  under 
the  patronage  of  infidelity,  was,  in  fact,  holding  its 
last  saturnalia. 

In  the  height  of  this  revolution,  the  missionaries 
arrived,  and  began  their  preaching.  Even  the  lowest 
class  of  whites  had  come  to  revolt  at  the  horrible 
orgies  and  scenes  of  violence  they  had  witnessed ; 
so  they  rather  welcomed  than  otherwise  the  new 
comers.  Soon,  some  of  the  chiefs,  wearied  of  their 
debaucheries,  were  attracted.  Two  classes  of  con 
verts  came  quickly  to  them :  the  best  minds,  which 
gladly  availed  themselves  of  a  newer  and  pure 
knowledge ;  and  those  that  having  gone  to  one 
extreme  of  folly  and  wickedness,  were  anxious  to 
expiate  it  by  going  to  the  other  extreme  of  faith 
and  virtue.  These  two  made  the  new  religion  fash 
ionable.  It  speedily  became  a  state  power,  and 
after  its  kind,  owing  to  the  zeal  and  ignorance  of 
the  new  converts,  an  ecclesiastical  despotism,  which 
would  have  been  almost  as  intolerable,  in  the  end, 
as  the  old  order  of  things,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
greater  enlightenment  of  some  of  the  missionaries, 
and  the  continual  opposition  of  the  foreign  popula- 
14* 


162  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

tion  to  the  extreme  measures  the  chiefs  sought  to 
impose  upon  their  people  for  the  forcible  furtherance 
of  Christianity.  The  leaven  of  foreign  opposition 
and  example  derived  from  the  white  settlers  alone 
prevented  the  reign  of  the  saints  from  being  abso 
lute.  As  it  was,  the  enactments  which  attended 
their  ascendency  were  of  the  most  arbitrary  charac 
ter,  having  for  their  object,  not  only  to  root  out 
every  vestige  of  heathen  ideas  and  customs,  but  to 
compel  every  inhabitant  to  an  observance  of  laws 
whose  spirit  was  derived  almost  exclusively  from 
the  Mosaic  dispensation. 

No  people  ever  underwent  a  more  forcible  and 
thorough  outward  change  than  these  unfortunate 
aborigines,  in  less  than  a  score  of  years.  There  were 
some  resistance  and  fighting,  at  the  first,  resulting 
from  the  expiring  force  of  the  old  in  contact  with 
the  new  faith.  But,  as  soon  as  the  latter  was  fully 
adopted  by  the  chiefs,  their  people  acquiesced,  and 
upon  the  whole  welcomed  a  moral  reaction,  which 
exchanged  the  violence  and  degradation  of  excess 
ive  sensuality  for  the  order,  strictness,  and  sobriety, 
of  their  new  religion.  They  gave  up,  though  at  first 
not  without  a  murmur,  their  dances  and  songs,  their 
feastings  and  licentious  revelries,  their  games,  and 
even  their  tattooings,  their  superfluous  wives  and 
drunken  debaucheries,  —  all  that  was  in  itself  harm 
less,  as  well  as  what  was  vicious  which  belonged  to 
their  former  belief,  —  and  in  exchange  accepted  the 
Bible,  meeting-house,  school-room,  and  prayer-circle, 
and  loyally  sustained  their  chiefs  in  their  inquisi 
torial  spread  of  new  ideas.  The  external  reform 


A   NEW   FIELD.  163 

soon  became  as  extreme  as  the  previous  undis 
guised  vice. 

One  who  frequented  only  missionary  circles  would 
have  concluded  that  Puritanism  had  revived  in  Poly 
nesia.  Many  of  the  chiefs  and  their  retinues  were 
sincerely  pious,  and,  considering  their  antecedents, 
exceedingly  exemplary  in  their  deportment.  With 
but  few  exceptions,  the  people  at  large  devoutly 
conformed  in  their  external  conduct  to  the  new  order 
of  things.  But  it  would  have  been  contrary  to 
common  sense  to  have  accepted  the  outward  for 
the  true  view. 

The  same  extraordinary  intermixture  of  civiliza 
tion  and  barbarism  that  was  to  be  observed  in  their 
household  effects  was  equally  perceptible  in  their 
morals,  apart  from  the  restraint  of  missionary  vision. 
Within  sound  of  one  of  Watts7  hymns,  as  sung  by 
a  native  choir,  the  curious  visitor  would  be  cau 
tiously  conducted  into  the  premises  of  a  high  chief, 
who  was  surreptitiously  indulging  himself  in  witness 
ing  wanton  dances  by  young,  half-clad  maidens,  fol 
lowed  by  scenes  not  to  be  described. 

A  little  further  off,  he  might  hear  through  the 
open  windows  of  a  merchant's  house  the  enlivening 
notes  of  waltz  or  cracovienne.  Nearer  by,  the 
monotonous  tones  of  natives,  earnestly  praying  to 
Jehovah,  would  strike  his  ear,  interrupted,  perhaps, 
by  the  profane  and  vulgar  mirth  of  groggy  sailors 
ashore  on  a  spree,  but  kept  like  wild  animals  chafing 
within  the  limits  of  some  white  man's  enclosure, 
from  which  they  and  their  female  companions  could 
sally  forth  only  at  the  risk  of  being  arrested  by  na- 


164  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

tive  constables,  greedy  to  collect  the  fines  im 
posed  upon  drunkenness  or  debauchery.  Should 
he  wander  into  one  of  those  huts,  so  recently  the 
scene  of  devotion,  its  owner  —  a  church-member, 
perhaps  a  deacon  —  would  not  unlikely  welcome  him 
in  the  spirit  of  the  former  hospitality  of  his  race, 
and  inquire  if  it  would  be  agreeable  to  him  to  have 
a  female  to  share  his  couch.  Possibly  the  next  day 
he  would  meet  the  same  woman  at  hard  labor  on 
the  public  highways,  betrayed  by  a  spy,  and  con 
demned  to  an  infamous  punishment  for  indulging 
in  what  in  her  early  youth  she  had  been  taught  to 
consider  as  a  virtue,  but  which  now  was  very 
properly  denounced  as  a  vice. 

White  women  were  held  by  the  natives  in  chaste 
reverence.  Once,  it  is  true,  a  party  of  heathen 
Indians,  on  a  visit  to  Lilibolu,  happening  to  meet  a 
lady  well  known  for  her  personal  attractions  and 
refinement,  became  enamored,  and  followed  her  to 
her  house,  asking  permission  to  enter.  This  ac 
corded,  they,  with  the  utmost  gravity,  but  without 
the  slightest  gesture  to  alarm,  stated  their  desires, 
and  offered  to  endow  the  object  of  their  love  with 
a  generous  share  of  their  barbaric  ornaments.  When 
it  was  explained  to  them  that  they  were  violating 
the  proprieties  of  civilized  life  by  such  a  proposi 
tion,  they  quietly  withdrew,  seemingly  a  little  mor 
tified  at  their  breach  of  good  manners. 

I  cannot  better  give  an  idea  of  the  state  of 
morals  among  this  race  at  this  period  than  in  the 
words  often  used  by  themselves:  "Me  mikonaree 
here,"  pointing  to  the  head;  " ole  mikonaree"  no 


A  NEW   FIELD.  165 

missionary  here ;  designating  the  rest  of  the  body. 
Brass  joined  to  clay  they  indeed  were. 

Such  were  the  people  and  manners  among  whom 
I  found  myself  left  at  nineteen?  to  seek  my  fortune 
and  learn  worldly  wisdom. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

PETRONIA   AS   MISSIONARY   AT   LILIBOLU. 

IN  order  to  remain  on  the  islands,  it  was  neces 
sary  to  be  presented  to  the  king,  and  obtain  his 
consent.  This  proved  an  affair  of  slight  etiquette. 
The  captain  of  the  Swallow  took  me  with  him, 
saying  I  had  come  to  reside  for  an  indefinite  time 
within  his  kingdom,  and  asked  his  permission.  His 
majesty  was  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  sitting  on  a  Chinese 
couch  in  a  huge  grass  house,  dozily  enjoying  the 
breeze.  Beside  him  was  the  queen  dowager,  formerly 
one  of  his  predecessor's  five  state-wives,  in  a  loose 
crimson  silk  gown,  with  a  sort  of  wrapper  of  native 
cloth  around  the  lower  part  of  her  body.  Her  bulk 
was  something  stupendous.  She  was  the  incarna 
tion  of  over-much  feeding  and  indolence.  Fat  was 
piled  about  her  in  masses  so  gross,  that  had  she  been 
a  whale  her  value  in  oil  would  have  made  a  fair 
Nantucket  dowry.  She  had,  however,  a  good- 
natured  and  rather  intelligent  face,  and  gave  me  her 
hand  to  shake,  which  was  soft,  delicate,  and  really 
small,  with  much  amiability,  especially  when  she 
heard  that  I  was  nephew  to  her  favorite  preacher. 

The  king,  evidently  bored  at  our  intrusion,  yawned 


PETRONIA  AS  MISSIONARY  AT   LILIBOLU.         167 

and  drawled  out,  "  Yon  are  welcome."  So  the  au 
dience  was  finished. 

My  uncle  resided  at  one  of  the  out-posts  of  the 
mission.  It  was  not  considered  politic  by  hia 
brethren  to  bring  one  of  his  exceedingly  denunci 
atory  and  narrow  views  in  immediate  contact  with 
the  foreign  residents ;  so  he  was  placed  in  a  sort  of 
complimentary  exile,  in  a  purely  aboriginal  field, 
on  the  then  furthermost  island.  He  fancied  this  mis 
sion  was  assigned  him  on  account  of  its  special 
importance  ;  and  was  well  satisfied  to  live  thus  iso 
lated  from  white  society,  because  it  gave  him 
greater  license  for  both  his  good  and  weak  points. 
There  was  no  one  to  check  his  love  of  domination 
but  Aunt  Petronia  ;  and  his  hammer-and-anvil  style 
of  preaching  had  come  to  be  very  much  to  the  taste 
of  his  congregation,  from  want  of  anything  better 
by  way  of  comparison.  He  was  a  self-elected  judge 
in  an  Israel  of  his  own  creation,  and  ruled  as 
supreme  as  ever  did  Samuel. 

This  was  but  just.  Whatever  of  Christian  habits, 
ideas,  or  customs,  existed  within  the  limits  of  his 
extensive  parish,  was  due  exclusively  to  his  personal 
exertions.  When  he  pitched  his  tent  among  them, 
the  natives  were  the  most  turbulent  and  vicious  of 
the  group.  His  fearless  sincerity  and  unwearied 
zeal,  as  it  were,  magnetized  them ;  and  while,  from 
lack  of  foreign  commerce,  his  people  retained  more 
than  most  others  their  aboriginal  condition  as  to 
living,  they  had  outwardly  conformed  to  Abinadab's 
standard  of  Christianity,  and  the  body  of  them  were 
really  vastly  improved  in  morals.  He  was  singularly 


168  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

favored  in  being  withdrawn  from  the  opposition  of 
the  white  residents,  which  so  sorely  tried  the  tem 
pers  and  success  of  his  brethren  elsewhere.  Those 
of  his  flock  who  wished  to  lead  freer  lives  were 
obliged  to  escape  to  the  seaport  towns.  I  am  sorry 
to  say  there  was  a  constant  drain  of  the  youth  of 
both  sexes  to  these  more  seductive  influences. 

His  station  was  precisely  the  field  for  me  to  ob 
serve  the  effect  of  pure  Calvinistic  missionarism 
upon  the  sensuous  Polynesian.  Moreover,  I  really 
desired  to  see  again  two  individuals  so  mixed  up  with 
my  earliest  religious  ideas.  A  miniature  schooner, 
of  about  twenty-five  tons,  owned  and  manned 
wholly  by  natives,  was  my  only  chance,  for  an  in 
definite  period,  of  reaching  my  uncle's  station.  It 
was  to  sail  at  once,  so  I  secured  passage.  We  left 
with  a  strong  trade-wind,  which  pitched  and  tossed 
the  frail  thing  about  like  a  piece  of  cork.  It  was 
impossible  to  get  into  the  little  cabin,  for  it  was 
filled  with  the  odoriferous  sour  "  poi,"  which  forms 
the  chief  article  of  food  of  the  islanders,  and  is  as 
useful  a  stomachic  in  sea-sickness  as  the  far-famed 
raw-pork-and-molasses  receipt  of  white  sailors.  Not 
less  than  forty  to  fifty  natives  of  the  lowest  class 
crowded  the  decks.  From  want  of  other  room,  they 
hung  over  the  bulwarks,  and  even  clung  about  the 
bowsprit,  sick,  naked,  deluged  with  spray,  more  or 
less  the  victims  of  cutaneous  disease,  and,  with  their 
vile  dogs  and  taper-snouted  hogs,  which  were  dearer 
to  them  than  their  children,  presented  as  loathsome 
and  brutal  a  mass  of  beings  as  could  be  well  con 
ceived. 


PETRONIA  AS  MISSIONARY  AT  LILIBOLU.         169 

The  voyage  lasted  four  days,  owing  to  the  pecu 
liar  hap-hazard  navigation  of  the  crew.  When  wide 
awake  they  kept  to  their  course  tolerably  well,  but 
in  the  night  often  lost  much  that  had  been  gained 
by  day.  The  captain,  who  was  a  church-member, 
held  periodical  seasons  of  prayer  and  singing,  in 
which  all  joined  with  apparent  devotion.  It  was  a 
delicious  moment  for  me  when  I  trod  on  shore.  If 
a  London  cockney  had  shared  my  accommodations, 
he  would  have  understood,  for  once  in  his  life,  the 
real  meaning  of  his  pet  word  "  nasty.77 

There  was  more  danger,  too,  in  these  trips  than  I 
had  originally  conceived.  The  live  freight  on  deck 
renders  the  vessels  top-heavy,  and  makes  it  quite  im 
possible  to  manoeuvre  them  with  quickness  or  skill. 
On  her  next  voyage,  with  a  similar  load,  the  schooner 
was  capsized,  and  sunk  immediately  in  a  heavy  sea 
way,  at  a  long  distance  from  the  land.  The  natives 
are  about  as  much  at  home  on  the  water  as  on  shore. 
There  were  thirty-six  in  all.  They  immediately 
clustered  about  the  captain,  who  made  an  audible 
prayer  for  their  safety,  and  then  all  swam  for  the 
nearest  land.  But  three  of  their  number  ever 
reached  the  shore.  Two  were  males,  who  were  in 
the  water  some  twenty-eight  hours  ;  and  the  third 
a  woman,  the  wife  of  a  respectable  native,  who 
swam  alongside  of  her  for  a  day,  then  complained 
of  fatigue.  Both  rested,  prayed,  and  she  rubbed 
his  benumbed  limbs,  which  enabled  him  to  hold  out 
a  little  longer.  As  the  woman  saw  her  husband 
sinking,  and  they  were  now  not  far  from  land,  she 
took  him  on  her  back  and  carried  him  for  a  con- 
15 


170  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

eiderable  distance,  until  he  died.  She  then  aban 
doned  the  corpse,  and,  after  being  in  the  water 
thirty-four  hours,  landed,  faint  with  hunger  and  her 
exertions.  She  was  soon  found  and  cared  for. 
With  the  exception  of  these,  the  others  were  not 
drowned,  but  died,  one  after  another,  from  sheer 
fatigue.  There  were  a  heavy  sea  and  a  strong  cur 
rent  running  the  whole  time. 

A  crowd  of  natives  welcomed  me  on  the  beach, 
and  escorted  me  to  my  uncle's.  The  path  lay 
through  their  thatched  town,  which  was  scattered 
loosely  about  under  a  beautiful  grove  of  cocoa-nut 
palms.  The  same  affectionate  treatment  and  social 
equality  of  swine,  fowls,  and  dogs,  with  their 
owners,  were  as  obvious  here  as  at  Lilibolu.  There 
was  less  clothing,  but  more  personal  cleanliness. 
The  male  population  looked  healthier  and  more 
robust;  but  the  proportion  of  decrepit  hags  and 
old  men  far  exceeded  that  of  the  capital.  How 
hideously  ugly  most  of  them  were,  with  their 
scabby  skins,  teeth  knocked  out,  bodies  tattooed 
with  every  species  of  grotesque  figures,  frizzly, 
dishevelled  hair,  matted  with  dirt,  and  numerous 
scars  of  heathen  excesses  or  brutal  fights  ! 

Old  age  among  savages  is  surely  very  unbecoming. 
But  some  of  the  young  maidens,  with  their  clear, 
olive  complexions,  finely-rounded  forms,  and  laugh 
ing  Bacchante  faces,  with  wreaths  of  necklaces  of 
white  and  red  flowers  about  their  heads  and  bosoms, 
timid  and  modest  withal,  were  perfect  pictures  of 
aboriginal  beauty.  Among  their  brothers  I  re 
marked  one  young  man  who  had  the  form  and  air 


PETRONIA  AS  MISSIONARY  AT  LILIBOLU.          171 

of  an  Apollo,  as  he  stepped  lightly  and  gracefully 
before  me,  showing  the  way.  He  was  naked  to  his 
"  malo."  But  the  mass  of  the  population  and  their 
habitations  were  anything  but  inviting,  and  quite 
upset  all  my  romance  about  Polynesian  life. 

After  walking  a  mile  through  cultivated  fields 
and  carefully-irrigated  lands,  we  came  to  rising 
ground,  on  which  was  situated,  in  the  midst  of  a 
beautiful  grove,  my  uncle's  stone  house.  It  was  of 
two  stories,  with  a  veranda,  and  plain  but  well 
built.  Near  by  was  one  of  wood,  equally  as  large, 
but  which  had  been  abandoned  because  it  did  not 
suit  my  uncle.  It  had  cost  the  mission  a  large  sum 
of  money,  and  was  now  rapidly  going  to  ruin. 

My  relations  received  me  with  a  reasonable  share 
of  warmth.  Any  respectable  visitor  was  a  god 
send  in  such  an  exile.  Aunt  Petronia  had  many 
questions  to  ask  about  home.  But,  as  the  reader 
can  be  curious  only  about  the  sort  of  life  led  here,  I 
will  confine  myself  to  that. 

The  Rev.  Abinadab  was  obliged  to  ride  to  a  meet 
ing  appointed  some  fifteen  miles  off  for  that  day,  so 
he  left  Petronia  to  do  the  honors  of  the  house.  My 
aunt's  neatness  and  exactness  were  perceptible 
everywhere.  The  furniture  was  abundant,  com 
fortable,  and  good,  without  any  pretensions  to 
elegance,  except  in  a  few  keepsakes  she  had 
brought  with  her  from  America.  It  was  a  model 
establishment  for  a  Puritan  clergyman,  and  I  can 
avouch  that  the  donations  of  sympathizing  Christians 
in  America  had  all  been  invested  so  as  to  produce 
the  greatest  degree  of  comfort  at  the  minimum  of 


172  HEAET-EXPERIENCE. 

expenditure.  A  pretty  flower-garden  and  luxuriant 
orchard  were  in  front  of  the  house.  At  the  back  was 
a  tempting  display  of  indigenous  and  foreign  vege 
tables.  Both  were  carefully  walled,  to  keep  out 
quadruped  and  biped  depredators. 

The  domestic  arrangements  of  my  uncle  were 
assuredly  a  wholesome  example  of  civilization  to 
his  flock,  but  I  fear  as  hopeless  a  one,  considering 
their  desires  and  means,  as  would  have  been  La 
Petite  Trianon,  if  translated  from  Versailles  to  their 
taro-patches. 

I  saw  at  a  glance  that  my  uncle-in-law  had  other 
qualities  than  his  merits  as  a  preacher  to  recommend 
him  to  my  esteem.  He  was  an  active  civilizer  and 
tamer  of  rude  nature,  and  took  a  real  pleasure  in 
making  a  desert  blossom,  especially  with  whatever 
was  pleasant  to  the  palate,  or  useful  as  a  vegetable 
capital  on  interest.  In  this  Petronia  was  unlike  his 
first  spouse.  Her  delicacy  of  organization  had  per 
mitted  her  to  interest  herself  only  in  the  sentimental 
side  of  missionary  life  ;  that  is,  to  write  home  beau 
tiful  letters,  filled  with  the  romance  of  godliness  and 
bits  of  poetry,  that  found  their  way  into  the  reli 
gious  journals,  greatly  to  the  edification  of  philan 
thropic  misses,  who  shut  their  eyes  to  real  misery 
about  them  in  order  to  enjoy  more  keenly  the 
fictitious  scenes  of  their  imaginations,  and  allow 
themselves  to  encourage  only  that  which  is  irre 
proachable  in  attire  and  behavior. 

Petronia  was  not  of  this  genre.  She  could  work, 
scold,  preach,  wash,  bake,  pray,  catechize,  make 
dresses,  plant  and  pluck,  drive  stray  pigs  out  of  the 


PETRON1A  AS  MISSIONARY  AT  LILIBOLU.          173 

garden,  and  cause  the  Grossest  dog  that  crossed  her 
path  to  blink  and  put  his  tail  between  his  legs. 
There  was  nothing  useful  in  their  wilderness  life 
that  she  was  not  handy  at.  The  fires  of  the  trop 
ics  seemingly  had  even  invigorated  her  forty-seven 
summers ;  perhaps  it  was  the  scope  she  found  in  her 
new  life  for  her  peculiar  energy  that  preserved  her 
so  well.  At  all  events,  it  was  no  flattery  on  my 
part  when  I  assured  her,  in  return  to  her  exclama 
tions  of  surprise  at  time's  changes  in  my  figure,  that 
I  could  detect  none  in  hers.  "  Really,  aunt,  you  are 
as  young  and  active  as  ever." 

"  Spare  your  worldly  compliments,  nephew,"  she 
replied,  in  her  most  orthodox  tone.  "  In  accepting 
the  mission  Providence  opened  to  me,  I  eschewed 
all  flatteries,  as  well  as  other  seductions  of  American 
life,  for  the  peculiar  trials  and  hardships  of  a  mis 
sionary." 

Whatever  had  been  her  "  peculiar  trials  and  hard 
ships,"  I  saw  no  indications  of  their  existence  in  the 
comfortable  home  before  me. 

While  she  spoke,  a  crowd  of  natives  came  to  the 
door  to  pay  their  respects  to  their  pastor's  nephew, 
squatting  on  the  floor  in  a  circle  about  me,  and  in 
profound  silence  staring  me  quite  out  of  counte 
nance.  I  noticed  that  nearly  all  brought  a  gift  of 
some  kind  or  other,  the  product  of  their  little  plan 
tations,  to  my  aunt,  who  graciously  received  every 
thing  with  pious  thanks.  After  they  had  sufficiently 
inspected  me,  one  by  one  arose,  shook  me  by  the 
hand,  saying,  "  Aloha  nue  oe,"  great  love  to  you, 
and  went  out. 

15* 


174  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

Soon  a  messenger  came  in,  and  said  something 
mysteriously  to  my  aunt.  She  followed  him  out, 
saying  to  me,  "  I  must  be  gone  for  some  time. 
Make  yourself  quite  at  home  until  my  return.  In 
the  library  you  will  find  all  the  Tract  Society's  pub 
lications." 

I  afterward  learned  that  she  had  been  sent  for  to 
assist  at  the  accouchement  of  the  young  and  pretty 
wife  of  the  chief  who  ruled  the  island.  She  told  me 
this  much  herself;  but  was  silent  upon  the  main  fact 
of  the  extraordinary  whiteness  of  the  infant,  which 
the  mother  somewhat  naively  accounted  for  by  her 
having  eat,  for  some  time  before,  much  white  bread. 
There  were  other  theories  in  relation  to  its  unex 
pected  paleness,  which  are  none  of  the  reader's 
business. 

While  Aunt  Petronia  was  gone,  a  domestic,  whose 
sole  livery  was  an  extremely  dirty  shirt,  came  to  lay 
the  table  for  dinner.  I  saw  by  his  manner  that  he 
had  been  well  drilled ;  but  he  speedily  gave  me  a 
token  that  his  mistress's  eye  could  not  always  be 
upon  him.  One  of  the  plates  not  being  as  clean  as 
it  might  be,  he  polished  it  thoroughly  with  his  front 
shirt-flap.  This  sudden  initiation  into  the  domestic 
habits  of  Polynesian  servants  greatly  disturbed  my 
appetite. 

When  my  aunt  returned  an  excellent  dinner  was 
served.  Meat  and  vegetables  were  irreproachably 
cooked ;  the  bread  and  butter  were  as  sweet  and 
good  as  the  best  in  Gotham,  and  the  fruits  left 
nothing  to  be  desired;  but  I  avoided  that  plate. 
When  half  through  dinner,  it  occurred  to  me  that 


PETRONIA   AS  MISSIONARY  AT  LILIBOLU.         175 

what  I  had  seen  was  most  probably  symbolic  of  the 
unseen.     We  must  eat  in  faith  everywhere. 

Before  we  sat  down,  iny  aunt,  forgetfully,  I  pre 
sume,  requested  me  to  say  grace.  Had  she  asked 
me  to  sing  Casta  Diva,  I  could  not  have  been  more 
surprised.  It  was  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to 
say  such  graces  as  I  had  often  heard,  namely,  a  few 
inarticulate  sounds,  intermingled  with  the  words 
"  food,  refresh,  thanks,  and  amen,"  got  off  like  mili 
tia  musket-firing;  but,  that  I  should  be  asked  so 
astonished  me,  I  was  dumb-foundered,  and  nothing 
short  of  a  miracle  could  have  loosened  my  tongue. 
My  aunt  took  pity  on  my  suffused  face,  and  said  it 
herself;  and,  what  was  better,  never  repeated  her 
request. 

As  soon  as  I  recovered  myself,  I  inquired  for  the 
numerous  family  of  her  husband.  She  had  had  no 
children,  and  my  father  had  saved  the  silver  porringer. 
"  With  the  exception  of  the  youngest,  which  was 
killed  by  the  shark,  the  others,"  said'  she,  "  are  all  in 
America,  scattered  among  pious  families,  who  have 
volunteered  to  educate  and  provide  for  them." 
This  giving  up  one's  own  offspring  to  strangers,  in 
order  to  look  after  the  offspring  of  other  strangers, 
struck  me  as  a  real  "  trial,"  as  I  thought  of  my  own 
mother.  My  aunt  saw  by  my  expression  that  it 
seemed  unnatural  to  me  to  thus  exchange  duties  ;  so 
she  quoted  from  Scripture,  "  He  that  loveth  son  or 
daughter  more  than  me,  is  not  worthy  of  me."  I 
was  silenced,  but  thought  that  perhaps  the  meaning 
of  the  word  "  loveth  "  had  been  misapprehended. 
Petronia's  barrenness  was  an  additional  qualification 


176  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

for  her  missionary  life.  In  general,  missionaries 
beget  large  families,  and,  to  prevent  their  children 
from  becoming  like  the  surrounding  heathen,  they 
are  compelled  either  to  exile  them  from  their  own 
homes,  or  to  prevent  their  acquiring  the  language 
of  the  people  they  are  among.  Would  it  not  be 
better  for  Protestant  missionaries  to  avoid  the 
necessity  of  either  of  these  dubious  remedies,  and 
go  forth,  like  the  Catholics,  unwedded,  or,  like  my 
aunt,  unfruitful  ? 

After  dinner  my  aunt  initiated  me  into  her  special 
fields  of  labor.  She  was  quite  as  independent  in 
them  as  my  uncle  was  in  his,  and  exercised  an  in 
fluence,  from  her  energy  and  practical  virtues,  that 
bordered  on  arbitrary  authority.  Abinadab  had 
sought  an  helpmate,  and  found  a  coequal,  —  an  ex 
perience  not  uncommon  in  matrimony.  His  domestic 
affairs,  after  Petronia's  will  had  established  her  po 
sition,  went  on  all  the  more  smoothly  therefor ;  so 
that  at  the  period  of  my  visit  both  held  their  own 
spheres  of  duty  quite  distinct  from  but  in  harmoni 
ous  relations  to  each  other. 

The  life  Petronia  now  led  was  precisely  that  for 
which  she  was  most  suited.  She  cared  not  for 
society,  provided  she  was  always  occupied,  and  no 
one  questioned  her  authority.  At  her  station  she 
was  the  only  white  female,  and  ruled  supreme.  If 
there  were  any  possibility  of  introducing  New  Eng 
land  household  habits  and  faith  among  Polynesian 
females,  she  was  the  woman  to  do  it.  As  I  walked 
through  the  native  village  with  her,  I  could  see  that 
her  presence  operated  everywhere  as  a  civilizing 


PETRONIA  AS  MISSIONARY  AT   LILIBOLU.         177 

tonic.  True,  the  effect  was  in  very  many  cases  tran 
sient,  but  it  showed  that  the  natives  knew  what  she 
expected  of  them.  As  she  appeared,  tobacco-pipes 
disappeared,  idle  games  or  gambling  were  slyly  put 
by,  Bibles  and  hymn-books  were  brought  conspicu 
ously  forward,  and  pigs  and  poultry  driven  out  of  the 
houses,  while  little  boys  gazed  at  her  with  an  unut 
terable  awe,  and  the  young  girls  hastily  donned 
their  chastest  dresses  and  looks,  and  all  were  but 
too  happy  if  she  honored  them  with  a  lecture  or 
command. 

Most  of  the  other  ladies  of  the  mission  I  had  met 
had  made  ambitious  attempts  to  keep  up  with  the 
changes  of  fashion.  Not  so  my  aunt.  She  walked 
stiffly  forth  in  the  same  cut  and  garb  with  which 
she  had  left  America,  namely,  enormous  leg-of-mutton 
sleeves,  narrow  skirts,  and  a  bonnet  that  looked  like 
the  entrance  to  a  railroad  tunnel ;  and  as  far  as  she 
could  she  forced  the  same  style  upon  her  female 
proselytes.  There  was  no  humbug  in  her.  What 
she  did,  she  did  openly  and  thoroughly.  She  de 
spised  fashion  as  a  vanity,  and  snapped  her  fingers 
in  its  face  ;  and  would  sooner  have  branded  herself 
with  the  word  apostate  than  imitated  the  example 
of  another  lady  of  the  mission,  who,  because  her 
husband  had  received  employment  under  the  king, 
set  up  a  visiting-card  with  an  extemporized  coat  of 
arms  upon  it. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

HOW    CHRISTIANITY   AGREES   WITH   THE   POLYNESIAN. 

THE  Rev.  Abinadab  Hardfaith  returned  at  night. 
His  field  of  missionary  labor  was  so  extensive  that 
he  was  obliged  to  pass  much  of  his  time  in  the  sad 
dle,  or  in  making  pedestrian  excursions  to  such 
places  as  were  inaccessible  on  horseback.  He  re 
newed  his  welcome  after  his  own  dry  manner,  but 
which  was  none  the  less  sincere.  Indeed,  after  much 
experience  among  missionary  households  in  wild 
countries,  it  is  but  simple  justice  to  the  missionaries 
to  say,  that  if  the  Christian  public  in  America  have 
liberally  supplied  them  with  comforts,  they  are  ever 
ready  to  dispense  hospitality  to  the  full  extent  of  their 
means.  In  many  places  the  traveller  would  fare  but 
indifferently  without  their  welcome.  If  he  profess 
their  faith,  he  is  welcomed  as  a  brother ;  even  if  he  do 
not,  provided  he  does  not  scandalize  their  standard  of 
morals  by  his  deportment,  he  is  received  with  almost 
equal  warmth.  He  must,  however,  conform  to  their 
religious  rites,  and  otherwise  set  a  wholesome  exam 
ple  to  the  natives. 

This  is  proper  in  every  sense.  My  reverence  nat 
urally  inclines  me  to  devotion,  even  when  its  forms 


CHKISTIANITY  AND   THE   POLYNESIAN.  179 

and  words  are  not  always  in  harmony  with  my 
views  of  religion.  I  joined,  therefore,  without  hes 
itation,  in  the  private  and  public  worship  of  my 
uncle.  Of  the  usual  vices  of  youth  I  was  innocent, 
even  in  theoretical  knowledge,  to  a  degree  that 
would  have  made  me  the  butt  of  loose  society. 
With  such  a  mother  as  I  possessed,  and  in  the  flush 
of  a  sentimental  love,  had  not  my  disgust  of  vulgar 
ity  been  as  innately  strong  as  it  was,  I  would  not 
have  been  otherwise  than  pure  in  my  desires  and 
deportment.  Gambling,  intemperance,  profanity,  and 
licentiousness,  with  the  majority  of  young  persons, 
are  like  smoking  —  acquired  only  through  repeated 
nausea — of  conscience. 

Hence  it  was  that,  being  considered  by  the  natives 
a  "  mikonaree,"  -  —  that  is,  one  who  conformed  to 
their  views,  —  I  was  everywhere  received  with  the 
same  hospitality  and  respect  that  they  manifested  for 
their  religious  teachers  ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  they 
did  not  fear  to  show  to  me  their  natural  characters. 
I  thus  obtained  a  better  insight  into  the  practical 
effects  of  the  discordant  foreign  influences  operating 
upon  this  people.  The  problem  of  the  capacity  of 
the  colored  races  for  Christian  civilization  must  in 
terest  every  student  of  humanity.  My  uncle's  field 
gave  me  an  opportunity  for  investigating  it  under  its 
most  favorable  religious  conditions.  Both  the  gov 
ernment  and  public  sentiment  favored  him.  He  had 
little  or  no  opposition  from  vagrant  whites,  and  no 
rival  in  his  own  department  to  interfere  with  his 
views.  Moreover,  he  was  their  first  teacher.  To  the 
strictest  religious  principles  both  my  aunt  and  uncle 


180  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

joined  a  practical  knowledge  of  the  elementary  civ 
ilization  most  favorable  to  the  needs  and  capacities 
of  the  aborigines.  The  theology  they  taught  them, 
although  based  upon  fear,  was  mild  in  comparison 
with  the  terror-side  of  their  antiquated  faith.  It  had, 
besides,  what  that  had  not,  the  love  of  a  divine 
being  to  counteract  the  fear  inspired  by  a  vengeful 
deity. 

In  America  my  uncle  was  reduced,  for  notoriety, 
to  his  theological  shade  of  character ;  consequently, 
all  his  energies  turning  to  polemical  zeal,  he  was  a 
bigot.  So  with  my  aunt.  But  here,  with  ample  scope 
for  their  more  useful  faculties,  their  characters, 
though  essentially  the  same  in  matters  of  faith,  were 
greatly  modified  by  enlarged  fields  of  action,  which, 
with  their  apparent  successes,  made  them  compara 
tively  charitable  and  good-natured.  I  may  say  that 
the  worse  part  of  their  natures  was  vented  in 
words,  and  their  better  in  deeds.  To  hear  them 
preach  and  pray,  you  would  suppose  all  mankind  — 
excluding  themselves  and  their  friends  —  to  be 
damnable  scoundrels  j  to  see  them  act,  you  felt  sure 
they  did  not,  at  heart,  feel  that  the  human  race  was 
so  unmitigatedly  bad,  after  all. 

My  uncle  took  a  pardonable  pride  in  showing  me 
the  results  of  his  missionary  labors.  Among  other 
things,  he  had  persuaded  a  chief  to  establish,  in  a 
small  way,  a  cotton  factory.  There  was  abundance 
of  wild  cotton  in  the  fields,  and  no  lack  of  idle 
youths  to  gather  and  manufacture  it  by  the  simple 
machinery  got  together  for  that  purpose.  The  forest 
afforded  abundance  of  dye-stuffs.  He  showed  me, 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  THE  POLYNESIAN.  181 

with  much  complacency,  specimens  of  cotton  cloth 
made  by  the  natives,  and  argued  a  great  stimulus  to 
their  industry  from  these  results.  But  he  failed  to 
perceive  that  foreign  commerce  could  undersell 
native  skill  by  one  half;  consequently,  as  it  proved, 
the  factory  must  soon  be  ruined. 

The  great  attraction  was  the  stone  church.  Its 
architecture  was  his  peculiar  pride.  It  was  not  un 
like,  externally,  a  stranded  two-decker,  with  squared 
ends  and  roofed  at  a  sharp  pitch,  the  port-holes  being 
left  for  windows.  In  short,  it  was  as  angular,  and 
ugly,  and  evangelical,  as  it  was  possible  for  a  building 
to  be.  There  were  galleries  inside,  and  slips  instead 
of  pews.  The  pulpit,  from  America,  occupied  a  con 
spicuous  position ;  and,  being  of  mahogany,  with 
crimson  mountings,  formed  a  clerical  throne  that 
contrasted  forcibly  with  the  naked,  white-washed, 
cobweb-festooned  walls  of  the  interior  of  the  build 
ing,  and  the  rough-hewn  wooden  benches  on  which 
the  hearers  sat. 

This  meeting-house  had  been  built  chiefly  by  the 
forced  labor  of  the  people.  Though  they  cursed  the 
toil  imposed  upon  them  in  its  erection,  it  had  now 
become,  in  their  eyes,  a  St.  Peter's  basilica  in  point 
of  admiration.  The  same  arbitrary  principle  which 
built  it  more  or  less  .filled  it,  and  enforced  certain 
regulations  more  curious  than  judicious.  Any  one 
caught  napping  during  divine  service  was  soundly 
rapped  on  the  forehead  with  a  long  cane  in  the  hands 
of  a  special  police,  appointed  to  keep  the  congrega 
tion  awake.  Not  very  complimentary  to  the  preach 
ing  of  my  uncle  ;  but  he  seemed  to  think  it  quite 
16 


182  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

necessary  in  this  drowsy  climate,  and  I  agreed  with 
him  after  the  first  sermon  I  heard  of  his.  Any 
woman  entering  the  meeting-house  without  a  bonnet 
run  the  risk  of  having  her  hair  shaved  off  close  to 
her  head.  This  was  a  regulation  of  the  chiefs,  and 
extended  to  his  own  residence.  As  nothing  was 
said  about  stockings,  the  gallery  effect  was  some 
what  queer.  A  row  of  bonnets,  of  extraordinary 
shapes  and  sizes,  —  modelled  as  closely  as  possible 
after  my  aunt's,  —  surmounted  the  heads  of  the 
females  above  stairs,  while  their  bare,  brown  feet 
were  protruded  through  the  banisters,  in  all  direc 
tions,  with  a  liberal  display  of  legs,  looking  like  so 
many  tree-roots.  After  church,  if  it  rained,  off'  came 
the  finery  and  clothing  of  both  sexes,  to  save  it  from 
being  wet;  its  owners  preferring  to  expose  their 
naked  skins,  rather  than  their  ribbons  and  coats,  to 
the  storm. 

The  off-hand  way  my  uncle  had  of  doing  his  work 
greatly  amused  me.  In  riding,  one  day,  with  him 
through  a  wild  part  of  the  country,  a  native  called 
to  us  from  a  hut.  He  dismounted  and  entered,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  returned,  telling  rne  he  had  just 
married  a  couple.  The  bride  and  bridegroom  came 
out  to  see  him  mount.  From  the  appearance  of  the 
former,  it  was  plain  that  she  considered  the  cere 
mony  essential  to  save  her  from  hard  labor  on  the 
roads,  in  accordance  with  the  penalties  prescribed 
by  the  new  code  of  laws  for  those  who  loved  out 
side  of  legal  ties. 

There  was  a  freshness  in  my  new  life  that  de 
lighted  me.  J  was  ever  on  foot  or  horseback,  mak- 


CHRISTIANITY   AND    THE   POLYNESIAN.  183 

ing  excursions  to  different  parts  of  the  island,  from 
no  other  motive  than  love  for  the  picturesque  and 
grand  scenery  with  which  it  was  filled.  There  was 
also  abundance  of  feathered  game.  The  natives 
ever  welcomed  me  to  their  softest  mats  and  best 
dishes,  of  which  I  partook  with  a  relish  such  as  only 
a  vagabond  life  can  give.  One  elderly  female  chief, 
who  once  ranked  as  queen  of  the  island,  but  now, 
through  political  changes,  and  the  loss  of  her  hus 
band, —  who  had  been  forcibly  appropriated  by  a 
more  powerful  member  of  the  reigning  dynasty, — 
was  reduced  in  rank,  took  such  a  fancy  to  me  as  to 
call  me  her  son.  She  lived  in  a  beautiful  spot,  on 
the  sea-side,  whence  a  river  led  inland  to  a  noble 
water-fall,  fine  plains  and  groves,  that  looked  more 
like  park-scenery  than  the  wild  work  of  nature.  To 
be  rapidly  paddled  up  this  stream  in  her  state-canoe, 
with  the  rude  chants  of  its  muscular  crew  resound 
ing  amid  its  winding  fertile  banks,  rich  in  tropical 
fruits  and  flowers,  and  melodious  with  the  songs  of 
birds ;  a  cloudless  sky  overhead,  and  cool  retreats 
on  every  side  ;  the  senses  luxuriating  in  Nature's  har 
mony  of  sound,  color,  and  sight ;  a  limpid  stream, 
beneath,  from  which  the  startled  fishes  jumped,  or 
wild  fowl  fled,  —  was  to  me,  as  I  abandoned  myself 
to  the  impulses  of  the  scene,  more  a  vision  of  a  fairy 
land  than  a  landscape  of  unpoetical  earth.  Never 
in  after  life  have  I  enjoyed  travelling  as  I  then  did 
the  freedom  of  this  beautiful  wilderness. 

Whether  camping  out  under  the  soft  night  sky,  or 
swimming  freshet-swollen  rivers ;  climbing  preci 
pices,  wandering  up  lovely  valleys  to  forest-clad 


184  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

mountains,  at  times  far  away  from  human  habitations, 
then  descending  to  claim  amid  the  groves  of  the 
table  lands,  or  by  the  surf-lashed  shore,  the  ever- 
ready  welcome  of  native  hospitality;  —  no  inns, 
and  no  lack  of  accommodations,  —  with  none  of  the 
trammels  of  civilization,  and  all  the  fascinations  of  a 
virgin  scenery,  —  my  pulses  quickened  with  renewed 
health  and  pleasure,  and  my  mind  grew  peaceful 
and  happy  in  Nature's  embrace.  This  random  life 
could  not  have  been  led  except  by  the  aid  of  mis 
sionary  or  other  influence  which  the  natives  equally 
respected. 

Had  I  been  known  as  an  ordinary  visitor,  or 
under  the  ban  of  their  teachers  or  chiefs,  instead  of 
a  safety  of  person  and  property  and  a  hospitality 
that  was  almost  Arcadian,  I  should  have  been  sub 
jected  to  all  the  annoyances  which  selfish,  covetous, 
and  thieving  natures  could  inflict.  No  Italian  fac- 
chini  could  have  excelled  their  impudence  and  skill 
in  extortion.  This  difference  of  characters,  by  a 
change  of  circumstances,  arose  from  the  hereditary 
loyalty  of  their  natures.  Their  standard  of  morality 
was  based,  not  upon  a  principle,  but  upon  the 
wishes  of  their  chiefs  or  teachers.  The  same  peo 
ple  who  would  carefully  preserve  and  restore  to  its 
owners  shipwrecked  property,  which  they  might 
appropriate  without  much  risk  of  detection,  because 
pleasing  to  the  missionaries,  or  refrain  from  pilfer 
ing  the  individual  they  looked  up  to  as  their  chief, 
would  lie  and  steal,  or  commit  any  immorality,  if 
they  thought  it  pleasing  to  those  above  them,  or  if 
they  owed  no  loyal  faith  to  their  victims.  Some 


CHRISTIANITY   AND   THE   POLYNESIAN.  185 

few  individuals  were  able  to  comprehend  a  moral 
principle,  but  not  the  common  class.  The  conflict 
ing  accounts  which  we  have  of  aboriginal  Polynesian 
character,  and  its  more  recent  phase  under  mission 
ary  education,  arise  simply  from  whichever  side 
the  native  sees  fit  to  exhibit.  His  inclinations  are 
low  and  sensual;  his  nature,  kindly  and  mirthful; 
in  his  aboriginal  condition  he  knows  no  higher  prin 
ciple  than  blind  loyalty  to  or  fear  of  his  superior ; 
he  is  apt  to  learn,  but  deficient  in  reason. 

I  may  as  well  here  give  the  r  suit  of  my  final 
observations  upon  the  capacity  of  the  Polynesian 
races  to  undergo  the  Anglo-Saxon  civilization  with 
which  commerce  and  religion  have  brought  them  in 
contact,  as  to  postpone  it  further  in  my  narration. 
The  Polynesian  character  and  temperament,  like  the 
native  American,  are  the  result  of  local  conditions  and 
circumstances ;  one  being  as  much  the  product  of 
his  sensuous  climate  and  prolific  soil,  a^  the  other  is 
natural  to  a  ruder  nature  and  forest-life.  Both  fill 
a  certain  position  in  nature,  which  leaves  no  space 
untenanted  with  the  highest  degree  of  life  its  con 
ditions  are  capable  of  sustaining.  Each  had  orig 
inated  political  and  religious  institutions,  and  a 
social  system  which,  at  the  time  white  enterprise 
invaded  them,  had  attained  their  fullest  development, 
and  were  tending  to  decay.  Nature,  in  bringing  to 
them  nobler  and  more  complete  forms  of  knowledge, 
proclaimed  her  immutable  fiat  —  receive  or  perish. 
The  Indian  refused  to  yield  his  hunter-life,  and  so  he 
died.  Benevolence,  govermental  care,  lavish  expend 
iture,  all  even  that  Christianity  could  offer,  have 


186  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

failed  to  save  him  from  a  decay  proportioned  in 
rapidity  to  the  needs  of  the  white  race  for  his  lands. 
The  axe  and  the  arrow  cannot  exist  contemporane 
ously  ;  nor  can  the  wigwam  withstand  the  superior 
claims  of  the  farm-yard.  As  John  Smith  comes, 
Choctaw  and  Fijii-man  go.  Whether  it  were  better 
that  America  should  have  remained  a  wilderness 
sparsely  tenanted  by  roving  savage  tribes,  or  be 
filled  with  a  dense  population  of  a  far  superior  in 
tellectual  and  moral  development,  redeeming  nature 
from  a  barren  waste  to  beautiful  abodes  of  art,  sci 
ence,  and  domestic  life,  each  mind  must  decide,  as 
the  fact  is  viewed  by  it.  Few,  I  think,  will  question 
the  Divine  wisdom  in  permitting  such  a  result.  The 
sensibility  which  grieves  over  the  change,  losing 
sight  of  its  final  effects  in  sympathy  for  an  effete  race, 
is  as  morbid  as  the  love  which  would  compel  the 
pain-consumed  invalid  to  forego  heaven  for  earth. 

Geology  teaches  that  the  successive  changes  un 
dergone  by  our  globe  have  resulted  in  a  progressive 
development  of  superior  forms  of  animal  -and  vege 
table  life  out  of  the  inferior.  Analogy  and  history 
show  that  this  law  equally  obtains  in  the  various 
races  of  men.  Reason,  or  soul,  being  the  distin 
guishing  feature  between  animal  and  human  exist 
ence,  we  find  it  assumes  forms  or  types  of  different 
degrees  of  intelligence  and  power.  These  constitute 
the  diversified  races  of  mankind.  Each  race  is 
intimately  connected  by  natural  laws,  through  a 
series  of  gradations  of  life-forms,  with  the  local  con 
ditions  amid  which  it  originated.  Each  would  seem 
to  have  a  specific  mission  to  fulfil  in  creation,  with 


CHRISTIANITY   AND   THE   POLYNESIAN.  187 

powers  adequate  to  the  natural  demand  upon  them 
growing  out  of  these  local  conditions,  and  their 
relative  positions  in  the  scale  of  humanity.  By  no 
possible  human  wisdom  or  benevolence  has  it  thus 
far  been  found  that  the  powers  or  capacities  of  one 
human  type  can  be  transferred  to  another.  Each  is 
true  to  the  Divine  law  that  made  them  to  differ. 
Therefore  we  may  be  sure  that  the  degree  of  civil 
ization,  including  the  reasoning  and  religious  facul 
ties  with  the  interior  energies  that  give  them 
activity,  belonging  to  and  developed  among  one 
race,  cannot  be  transferred  to  another,  any  more 
than  the  physiological  differences  which  equally 
separate  them. 

What,  then,  follows  ?  Precisely  those  changes  in 
nations  which  we  see  going  on,  despite  all  theories 
of  human  equality,  or  efforts  of  disinterested  benev 
olence.  The  motive  and  act  that  would  seek  to 
elevate  a  Hottentot  to  the  level  of  an>  Anglo-Saxon 
blesses  the  latter,  by  extending  his  own  civilization, 
and,  as  prayer  blesses  our  faculties,  makes  his  the 
more  susceptible  to  their  noblest  impulses ;  but  it 
leaves  the  Hottentot  still  of  the  race  of  his  fathers. 
As  well  may  man  seek  to  transform  the  grass  of  the 
prairie  into  the  cedars  of  Lebanon,  as  to  change  any 
of  the  material  and  spiritual  laws  which  govern  his 
destiny.  But  what  man  desires  to  accomplish  is 
gradually  fulfilled,  in  a  somewhat  different  manner 
from  his  own  short-sighted  efforts,  by  the  all-direct 
ing  will  of  Providence. 

Without  the  grass  the  cedar  could  not  exist ;  so, 
without  the  gradual  development  of  the  various 


188  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

types  of  mankind,  the  white,  or  noblest  race  we 
yet  know,  could  not  have  had  a  being.  The  weaker 
and  inferior  are  the  forerunners  of  the  stronger 
and  superior,  just  as  the  varieties  of  one  class 
of  men  give  way  before  the  greater  activity  and 
intelligence  of  another  offshoot  of  the  same  race, 
after  the  institutions  and  forms  of  thought  the 
former  have  given  birth  to  have  completed  their 
natural  cycle  of  growth,  and  tend  to  decay.  In  this 
case,  however,  the  race  does  not  cease  to  exist.  It 
changes  its  external  conditions,  replacing  effete 
ideas  and  old  shapes  by  fresh  thought  and  new 
forms.  Thus,  a  branch  of  one  race  may  overrun  a 
kindred  people,  and  the  result  is  always  a  fusion  of 
the  two,  with,  perhaps,  a  temporary  intellectual  palsy, 
to  be  succeeded  by  renewed  activity.  The  nations 
of  Europe  are  to  us  the  most  prominent  examples 
of  this  law  of  race.  Each  one,  in  turn,  has  suffered 
from  its  neighbors  invasions  and  desolations,  which, 
if  poured  out  to  the  same  extent  by  any  one  of 
them  upon  an  inferior  race,  would  have  completely 
extinguished  it.  On  the  contrary,  England,  Ger 
many,  and  France,  have  from  rude  savages  ripened 
into  the  most  powerful  civilizations,  amid  the  press 
ure  of  foreign  and  intestine  war.  It  may  be  con 
sidered  as  a  law  of  race,  that  like  may  change  but 
cannot  destroy  like.  Under  such  conditions,  it  is 
simply  action  and  reaction,  causing  progressive 
development  of  the  species.  But  when  the  superior 
is  forced  to  contest  life  with  the  inferior  race,  or 
seeks  to  impose  its  own  degree  of  civilization  and 
ripened  thought  upon  the  weaker,  whether  by  force 


CHRISTIANITY   AND   THE   POLYNESIAN.  189 

of  arms,  commerce,  or  religion,  one  of  two  conse 
quences  must  happen.  Either  servitude,  like  that 
of  the  African,  who  is  preserved  in  contact  with  the 
white  race  upon  the  principle  of  domestic  animals, 
through  the  care  and  wants  of  their  owners ;  or,  ex 
tinguishment,  as  is  the  fate  of  the  North  American 
Indian,  whose  nature,  akin  to  the  wild  beasts  of  his 
forest,  causes  him  to  perish  rather  than  be  tamed  to 
industry  by  the  will  of  another. 

It  might  appear,  at  first  glance,  that  the  negro 
proved  the  contrary.  But  his  fate  and  condition 
when  in  contact  with  free  white  labor  demonstrate 
his  utter  incapacity  to  live  in  competition  with  it. 
He  exists  nowhere  in  free  white  communities,  either 
in  Europe  or  America,  except  casually,  and  more  or 
less  in  the  character  of  a  dependant.  Unlike  many 
of  the  German  and  Irish  peasantry,  —  who  arrive  in 
America  in  a  state  of  degradation  and  ignorance 
that  scarcely  removes  them  from  the  level  of  brutes, 
but  who  speedily  rise  above  both,  through  the  influ 
ences  of  free  institutions,  originated  by  a  kindred 
race,  —  the  negro  either  clings  to  his  dependence, 
imitating,  but  not  improving,  what  he  sees,  or  passes 
hopelessly  away  from  a  field  for  which  Nature  has 
unfitted  him.  Short-sighted  individuals  attribute 
this  inferiority  to  the  .white  prejudice  against  his 
color,  oblivious  to  Nature's  fact,  that  this  color  is 
the  livery  of  inferiority  put  upon  him  by  God 
himself. 

The  negro  is  of  an  inferior  race  in  every  point 
of  view  to  the  white.  No  theory  of  equality  or 
actual  personal  freedom,  whether  under  the  African 


190  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

sun  or  amid  the  snows  of  Canada,  will  enable  him 
to  compete  with  the  dominant  blood.  Nevertheless, 
he  has  his  mission,  and  it  will  be  found  that  Provi 
dence  has  apportioned  his  faculties  and  consequent 
happiness  to  the  part  he  has  to  fulfil  in  the  history 
of  human  beings.  His  lot,  whether  in  or  out  of 
slavery,  considering  his  capacities  and  desires,  does 
not  contrast  unfavorably  with  the  masses  of  white 
population  in  Europe.  But,  if  he  live  among  the 
whites,  it  must  be  as  a  dependent  being.  As  a 
slave,  his  existence  is  insured ;  as  a  free-man,  it  is 
precarious  and  unfavorable.  But  the  white  race 
owe  it  to  their  own  moral  and  physical  progress  to 
get  rid  of  slavery.  It  blights  them  by  bringing 
them  in  close  relations  with  moral  and  intellectual 
inferiority ;  brands  manual  industry  as  disgraceful, 
and  adds  the  vices  of  the  black  to  the  white  man. 
Free  the  slave,  and  put  him  in  competition  with 
intelligent  white  labor,  and  he  gradually  perishes. 
It  seems  impossible  to  reconcile  their  joint  existence 
and  prosperity,  either  on  the  phase  of  equality  or 
bondage.  Yet,  it  is  only  through  the  latter  that 
the  negro  has  learned  anything  of  Christianity  or 
civilization.  But  of  one  inexorable  fact  both  he 
and  his  white  friend  must  rest  assured :  namely,  that, 
unless  the  capacity  to  exist  alongside  the  white 
race,  coequal  and  self-dependent,  exists  from  within 
himself,  no  effort  of  other  human  wills  can  place  it 
there.  Were  the  African  race  annihilated  to-day,  in 
a  short  time  its  existence  on  the  earth  would  be  as 
much  forgotten  as  is  that  of  megatheriums  and  ante 
diluvian  sloths.  Not  a  single  thought  bearing  on 


CHRISTIANITY   AND   THE   POLYNESIAN.  191 

human  progress  has  been  born  of  them.  Not  one 
monument  of  art  or  science  would  they  leave  be 
hind.  In  short,  nothing  would  recall  their  memory 
but  the  temporary  want  of  their  labor. 

The  Polynesian  is  almost  in  a  similar  category. 
He  is,  however,  a  superior  development  to  the 
negro.  Without  his  geographical  advantages,  or 
contact  with  white  intelligence,  he  had  made  greater 
progress  in  his  aboriginal  condition.  Having  no 
metals,  living  in  petty,  isolated  communities,  with 
a  very  limited  animal,  mineral,  and  vegetable  king 
dom  on  his  soil,  he  yet  surprised  the  white  navi 
gators,  on  his  discovery,  by  his  mechanical  skill,  his 
nautical  courage,  and  his  social  institutions.  In  his 
own  way,  he  was  as  little  fitted  to  be  a  slave  as  the 
North  American  Indian.  At  the  same  time,  he  had 
more  powers  of  resistance  to  offer  to  the  pressure 
of  the  white  race.  But,  were  he  to  disappear  from 
earth,  his  memory,  so  far  as  it  depended  upon  his 
own  developments,  would  soon  be  as  much  a  blank 
as  is  that  of  the  Caribs  of  the  West  Indies.  Nothing 
would  be  saved  from  the  wreck  of  his  being,  except 
through  the  arts  and  efforts  of  a  foreign  race. 

Never  has  there  been  a  more  favorable  opportu 
nity  of  testing  the  capacity  for  civilization  of  an 
inferior  race  than  at  the  Hawaiian  Islands.  Com 
merce,  governments,  public  and  private  philanthropy, 
have  all  united  to  elevate  them  to  the  Anglo-Saxon 
standard.  Direct  .adverse  influences  have  been  cas 
ual,  and  comparatively  unimportant.  Their  soil  has 
been  respected,  their  independence  guaranteed ;  the 
number  of  white  settlers  at  any  time  has  not  been 


192  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

more  than  sufficient  to  reasonably  stimulate  their 
industry,  and  give  them  examples  of  foreign  thrift 
and  enterprise.     More  than  one  and  a  half  millions 
of  dollars  have  been  directly  expended  in  efforts  to 
Christianize  them,  by  one  religious  denomination  in 
America  alone.     Hundreds  of  individuals  have  en 
gaged  with  zeal  in  what  appeared  so  promising  of 
success.      Books,  free  schools,  churches,  domestic 
comforts,  all  that  trade  can  bring  to  their  shores ; 
the  best  of  political  institutions,  good  and  just  laws, 
honest  and   capable  foreign   officials,  a  free  press  ; 
new  races  of  domestic  animals  and  varieties  of  fruit, 
vegetables,  and  profitable   plants  for  culture  ;  food 
abundant   and   cheap;  in    short,   everything   which 
white  philanthropy  and  even  selfish  interests  could 
devise,    including   premiums   for   industry,   orderly 
households,  increase  of  families,  and  useful  enter 
prises,  have   all  been  tried,  to  save  the  Hawaiians, 
and  establish  them  as  a  free  and  prosperous  nation. 
Yet  they  have  gone  with  increasing  rapidity  on  the 
road  to  extinction  from  the  hour  the  first  white  man 
settled  among  them,  establishing  most  fully  the  fact 
that  the  organization  God  has  created  for  one  spe 
cies  of  development  is  radically  unfitted  to  receive 
another.     The  pint  measure  will  not  contain  a  quart 
by  any  amount  of  pressure,  but  must  be  burst  in  the 
attempt. 

So  it  has  proved  with  this  race.  Civilization  and 
Christianity  are  indeed  established  on  these  shores  ; 
but  they  are  exotics,  and  flourish  only  through  the 
unrelaxing  efforts  of  those  that  brought  them.  The 
capacities  which  the  aborigines  manifested  in  their 


CHRISTIANITY   AND   THE   POLYNESIAN.  193 

native  state  have  been  transferred  to  the  inferior 
conditions  of  civilization.  As  sailors,  domestics, 
petty  farmers,  and  fishermen,  and  to  a  very  limited 
extent  as  mechanics  and  pedlers,  they  continue  to 
exist ;  but  their  indolence  and  want  of  forethought 
are  proverbial.  Even  the  highest  classes,  when  not 
under  direct  foreign  influence,  quickly  relax  to  a 
semi-torpid  mental  state,  seemingly  with  little  ambi 
tion  even  of  gain.  The  vices  of  civilized  life  are 
most  congenial  to  the  natures  of  all.  Its  virtues  re 
quire  constant  fostering  to  be  kept  alive.  Their 
physical  systems  fall  an  easy  prey  to  the  new  dis 
eases  introduced  among  them.  Child-bearing  is  the 
exception  and  barrenness  the  rule  of  their  women. 
Even  when  the  race  becomes  mixed,  it  is  found  that 
the  half-castes  have  little  or  no  generative  power. 
Everything  manifests  a  people  rapidly  dying  out, 
while  the  increase  of  the  whites  is  proportionately 
as  great.  It  is  melancholy  to  know  thi^s  of  the  for 
mer.  The  Hawaiians  have  received  from  the  whites 
all  the  aid  that  the  highest  intellect  and  most  devoted 
philanthropy  could  bring  them  for  their  preserva 
tion.  These  gifts  have  been  fatal.  In  return,  they 
are  leaving  the  whites  —  their  graves.* 

*  The  population,  which  Captain  Cook,  in  1779,  loosely  estimated  at 
400,000,  in  1836  had  dwindled  to  108,579.  Since  that  period  they  have 
further  diminished  to  about  75,000.  In  1847  twenty  of  the  noblest  and 
most  civilized  Hawaiian  families  numbered  among  them  but  nineteen 
children  in  all.  Of  eighty  married  women,  of  the  most  correct  habits,  but 
thirty-nine  had  been  mothers.  At,  the  present  rate  of  annual  decrease, 
the  nation  will  become  virtually  extinct  in  the  year  1900.  Contrasted 
with  this  fatality,  on  the  same  soil  and  under  similar  influences,  is  the 
extraordinary  fertility  of  white  women.  Nine  of  the  American  mission 
ary  families  numbered,  in  1847,  fifty-nine  children.  The  increase  of  the 

17 


194  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

Neither  do  the  Society  Islands,  New  Zealand,  nor 
Australia,  show  different  results.  Wherever  com 
merce,  missionaries,  or  white  settlers,  have  appeared, 
the  native  population  has  commenced  rapidly  to  dis 
appear.  It  retains  its  prolific  energies  only  in  an 
isolated,  independent  state. 

It  is  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  which  diq- 
tates  to  the  mongrel  races  in  the  great  empires  of 
China  and  Japan  their  policy  of  excluding  Europe 
ans  from  their  shores.  Let  them  but  once  obtain  a 
foothold,  and,  as  certain  as  is  the  law  of  gravity,  will 
be,  first,  the  loss  of  their  independence,  and,  second 
ly,  as  the  pressure  of  the  superior  race  is  brought 
directly  and  abundantly  to  bear  among  their  people, 
their  gradual  supplanting  and  extinction. 

The  nearer  the  capacities  and  civilization  of  a  rival 
race  approach  those  of  the  whites,  the  slower  will 
be  their  absorption.  The  law  seems  to  be  this.  A 
fusion  of  similar  stocks,  whether  by  wars  and  revo 
lutions,  as  has  often  occurred  in  Europe,  or  by  em 
igration,  as  in  America,  re'invigorates  and  extends 
the  civilization  of  the  race.  On  the  contrary,  con 
tact  of  dissimilar  races  terminates  in  the  subjection 
and  destruction  of  the  inferior  organization  by  the 
superior.  We  call  it  death,  and  mourn  over  it.  But 
all  death  is  the  operation  of  a  wise  principle,  which 
transforms  lower  to  higher  life.  The  white  or  Cau 
casian  variety  of  mankind  is  rapidly  extending  its 
conquests  over  the  globe.  No  higher  types  of  its 

whole  by  birth,  in  less  than  one  generation,  was  175  per  cent.  At  a  simi 
lar  rate  of  increase,  their  descendants  within  a  century  would  number 
50,535  souls. 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  THE  POLYNESIAN.  195 

thought  and  intelligence  exist  now  than  in  its 
primary  being.  The  intellectual  capacity  of  a  Plato 
or  a  Pythagoras  has  not  as  yet  been  exceeded.  We 
may  conclude,  therefore,  that  while  the  measure  and 
knowledge  of  the  leading  minds  are  slowly  becoming 
the  standard  of  the  general  mind,  by  the  diffusive 
and  expansive  effects  of  the  civilization  they  origin 
ate,  the  original  mental  force  remains  in  degree  as 
it  first  appeared  on  earth.  Further,  judging  from 
the  subtle  analogy  between  causes  and  effects,  it 
seems  to  me  that  in  the  present  material  conditions 
of  this  globe,  it  is  incapable  of  sustaining  a  superior 
race.  To  do  this,  it  must  develop  new  forms  of  ma 
terial  life,  to  correspond  with  more  refined  physical 
and  mental  organizations.  And  this  it  is  not  likely 
to  do,  until  we  convince  nature,  by  our  wise  appre 
hension  and  use  of  her  present  gifts,  that  we  are 
deserving  of  nobler. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

MY  "BUSINESS"  SUCCESS. 

THE  convictions  given  in  the  previous  chapter, 
relative  to  the  different  races  of  men.  were  the 
result  of  years  of  intimate  experience  with  some 
of  them.  Contrary  as  they  were  to  my  theories 
and  wishes, — for  to  demonstrate  the  capacity  of  the 
Polynesians  for  civilization  was  my  pet  youthful 
hobby, — it  was  with  pain  that  I  perceived  the  actual 
truth.  Before  this  happened,  however,  I  took  an 
active  part,  under  the  stimulus  of  my  youthful 
enthusiasm,  in  the  efforts  made  by  older  and  wiser 
heads  to  lend  them  a  helping  hand  towards  the  arts 
of  civilized  life. 

My  uncle  found  me  a  willing  listener  to  all  his 
practical  plans  for  the  improvement  of  the  people. 
The  invoice  my  father  gave  me  put  me  in  funds. 
Part  was  sold  for  cash  at  Lilibolu,  and  part  bartered 
by  myself  directly  among  the  natives,  for  objects 
which  seemed  valuable  in  my  eyes,  but  which  my 
father,  as  will  be  seen  by  his  letter  to  me,  did  not 
consider  by  any  means  as  a  paying  remittance. 

Upon  the  receipt  of  them,  he  wrote  me  as  fol 
lows: 


MY  "  BUSINESS77   SUCCESS.  197 

"DEAR  SON:  The  cases,  with  your  letter,  have 
come  duly  to  hand.  Your  mother  insisted  upon 
opening  them  at  the  house.  The  stench  from  the 
box  of  shells,  owing  to  their  being  packed  before 
they  were  sufficiently  cleaned,  caused  her  a  faint 
turn.  So  far  from  their  being  worth  a  great  sum 
(the  orange  cowries  you  quote  at  fifty  dollars  each, 
and  chitons,  murexes,  volutes,  helices,  and  other 
shells  which,  as  you  have  not  labelled  them,  I  can 
not  tell  apart,  at  corresponding  prices),  there  is  no 
demand  in  our  market  for  such  articles,  except  as 
gifts  for  curiosity  hunters.  I  sent  them  all,  as  a 
present,  in  your  name,  to  the  Natural  History  So 
ciety.  In  return,  they  have  enclosed  to  me  for  you 
a  diploma  as  an  honorable  and  corresponding  mem 
ber,  and  beg  you  to  send  them  more,  but  to  be  very 
particular  in  packing  and  labelling  their  localities. 
I  hope  this  return  will  be  as  satisfactory  as  your 
remittance  was  to  me.  , 

"  You  say  the  natives  call  you  '  po  kanaka/  —  the 
skull-man,  —  from  your  zeal  in  collecting  human  cra 
nia.  I  want  no  better  proof  of  the  want  of  brains 
in  your  own  skull,  in  sending  me  twenty  of  them  in 
voiced  as  costing  you  three  dollars  apiece  in  barter. 
Why,  at  that  rate,  you  will  tempt  the  savages  to 
kill  each  other  to  sell  you  their  filthy  heads !  I 
gave  them  to  a  phrenological  lecturer,  who  went 
into  ecstasies  when  he  found  they  were  not  to  be 
paid  for.  He  sends  you  a  free  pass  to  his  lectures, 
and  an  offer  at  all  times  to  finger  your  bumps  gratis. 

"The  human-hair  bracelets,  whale's-teeth  orna 
ments,  straw  mats,  shark's-teeth  sword,  etc.,  are  all 
17* 


198  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

very  curious,  and  much  prized  by  the  Missionary 
Society,  to  whose  museum  I  sent  them,  particularly 
the  big  calabash-drum  and  the  idol  with  red  feathers, 
which  is  the  ugliest  little  devil  conceivable,  and 
attracts  a  crowd  of  old-maid  admirers,  but  fright 
ens  the  babies  into  fits.  The  committee  have  very 
generously  put  your  name  as  the  donor  on  all  these 
articles,  as  the  only  suitable  return. 

"  I  cannot  recommend  you  to  repeat  the  ship 
ment.  There  is  a  charge  of  forty-three  dollars 
sixty-one  cents  freight,  which  I  have  passed  to  your 
debit.  Hoping  something  more  satisfactory  from 
the  balance  of  the  invoice  in  your  hands, 
"  I  am  your  affectionate  father, 

"  ROBERT  BULLION." 

This  mixture  of  irony  and  fun,  so  characteristic 
of  the  writer,  was  like  cayenne  pepper  in  my  mouth ; 
for  I  had  become  ambitious  of  gaming  money,  and 
really  believed  my  collection  of  curiosities,  judging 
from  the  prices  I  had  often  paid  in  earlier  days, 
would  be  the  commencement  of  my  fortune.  It  is 
not  an  uncommon  mistake  to  fancy  what  we  highly 
prize  ourselves  is  equally  prized  by  others.  A  few 
similar  experiences  soon  taught  me  that  there  was 
a  wide  gulf  between  my  tastes  and  a  moneyed  divi 
dend  therefrom.  My  mother's  letter  partly  con 
soled  me. 

"  My  dearest  Lanie,"  she  wrote,  "  I  was  delighted 
to  hear  of  your  returning  health,  and  all  the  interest 
ing  excursions  you  had  made.  Pray  be  careful,  and 


MY  "BUSINESS"  SUCCESS.  199 

not  overdo  your  strength.      The    shells  you   sent 
were   really  beautiful.      I   selected   a  few  for  the 
mantel-piece  of  my  little  library,  where   everybody 
admires  them.     It  delights  me  to  have  my  friends 
thus  reminded  of  you,  and  to   hear  their  kind  in 
quiries  and  predictions  that  you  will  one  day  dis 
tinguish  yourself.     I  care  not  for  that,  if  you  only 
continue  pure  and  good.     But  how  could  you  send 
home  those  horrid  skulls?     They  reminded  me  so 
of  the  one  you  cooked  in  the  iron-pot  that  I  very 
nigh  fainted.     Your  father  seemed  both  vexed  and 
amused.     He  cleared  everything  out  of  the  house 
at  once,  saying  he  feared  you  would  never  make 
anything.     You  must  try,  my  dear  child,  to  please 
him,  as  his  real  anxiety  is  that  you  become  a  use 
ful  and  respectable   man.      I   miss  you  more   and 
more    each    day,   you    were    so   much   of   a   com 
panion.     Since  your  absence  I  have  been  out  but 
seldom  to  the  lectures  and  concerts  that  gave  us  so 
much  pleasure  ;  yet  I  am  always  glad  to  go,  as  you 
seem  nearer  than  ever  to  me   on  such   occasions, 
but  nearest  of  all  when  I  am  alone  in  your  room, 
which   I    still  keep  just   as  you  left  it.     When   I 
go   into   it,  you  are  there  visible   before  me,  with 
your  head  brimful  of  projects,  and  your  hands  busy 
among  your  treasures,  and  your  voice  merrily  ring 
ing  in  my  ear.     For  a  time  I  am  very  happy ;  but 
when  the  naked  reality  comes  home  to  my  senses,  my 
heart  grows  sad,  and  I  go  into  my  own  room  and 
pray  God  to  bless  you,  and  bring  you  back  soon. 
Yet  I  am  Avilling  to  wait  until  you  are  independent, 
if  staying  away  will  make  you  so  ;  for  no  lot  in  life 


200  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

is  more  painful  to  a  generous,  ambitious  spirit  than 
to  be  dependent.  God  bless  you,  Lanie,  is  the  con 
stant  prayer  of  your  mother. 

"  P.  S.  Your  friend  Jonathan  came  to  see  me, 
when  he  heard  of  the  arrival  of  your  boxes,  and 
selected  a  few  objects  which  he  said  were  just  the 
specimens  he  wanted  for  the  cabinet  of  a  friend. 
He  hopes  you  will  send  him  your  journal,  to  read 
before  a  mutual  improvement  society,  of  which  he 
is  president.  I  don't  think  I  am  quite  as  strong  as 
when  you  left,  which  reminds  me  that  a  half-century 
of  life  is  nearly  passed  with  me." 

I  was  eager  to  get  letters  from  home,  and  yet 
dreaded  to  receive  them,  and  always  let  them  lie 
by  me  unopened  for  some  time,  to  tranquillize  my 
spirit.  My  mother's  lively,  familiar  words,  simple  in 
expression,  but  deep  in  feeling,  always  appealed  so 
strongly  to  my  heart,  that  at  times  an  agony  of 
desire  would  come  over  me  to  abandon  everything 
else,  even  my  hopes  of  Constantia,  and  go  to  her. 
But  these  paroxysms  soon  subsided,  and  were  re 
placed  by  a  feeling  that  she  was  ever  with  me.  I 
felt  her  love  encircling  and  protecting  me,  as  if  it 
were  a  living  angel,  and  in  great  degree  ceased  to 
realize  our  separation.  This  delicious  conscious 
ness  of  her  presence,  with  the  perfect  repose  I  had 
in  her  affection,  banished  in  a  great  degree  the  sense 
of  loneliness,  and  amid  social  privations  cheered  and 
consoled  me.  Thank  God,  I  am  not  the  only  son  to 
whom  a  mother's  love  has  been  a  pillar  of  light 
through  the  wilderness  of  life  ! 


MY  "BUSINESS"  SUCCESS.  201 

My  uncle  suggested  a  use  for  the  remaining  funds 
of  my  invoice  which  delighted  me.  He  had  ascer 
tained  that  the  mulberry-tree  flourished  on  his 
island,  and  that  led  him  to  propose  to  me  to  start 
a  silk  plantation.  He  had  already  imported  some 
silk-worms,  and  fed  them  by  way  of  experiment. 
They  produced  beautiful  cocoons,  and  the  natives 
were  greatly  pleased  with  the  novel  labor  of  feed 
ing  the  worms.  Wages  were  but  nominal,  and  paid 
mostly  in  flints,  needles,  and  calicoes.  He  had 
taught  a  few  girls  to  reel  the  silk.  Everything, 
therefore,  seemed  to  promise  success.  The  land 
was  readily  obtained  of  the  chief,  —  at  a  high  rent, 
however.  I  built  a  straw  cottage,  which  I  called 
the  Hermitage,  on  a  spot  commanding  an  extensive 
view  of  land  and  ocean.  It  was  most  pictur 
esquely  situated,  —  somewhat  remote  from  other 
houses,  to  be  sure,  and  not  as  convenient  as  it 
might  have  been  for  overlooking  my  laborers,  —  but 
the  prospect  was  unexceptionable.  In  my  mind's 
eye,  I  already  saw  rising  around  me  a  village  occu 
pied  with  an  industrious  and  civilized  population, 
schools  and  churches  erected  from  the  profits  of 
the  raw  silk,  roads  laid  out,  and  the  whole  country 
smiling  as  a  garden  of  tulips,  with  myself  the 
moving  spirit.  It  was  a  pretty  day-dream  of  min 
gled  benevolence  and  riches.  I  considered  my  own 
wealth  sure,  and  Constantia  as  already  the  Eve 
of  my  paradise.  Had  it  all  been  realized,  the  en 
joyment  could  not  have  equalled  my  anticipation, 
and  the  enthusiasm  with  which  I  went  to  work. 

Do  not  smile,  dear  reader  !     The  figures  we  could 


202  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

have  shown  you  would  have  tempted  even  you  to 
take  an  interest  in  the  speculation  at  a  premium. 
Indeed,  I  had  offers,  but  the  most  tempting  profit 
would  not  have  sufficed  to  induce  me  to  forego  my 
personal  participation  in  our  projected  union  of 
wealth  and  philanthropy.  The  mulberry  throve 
admirably  on  my  plantation.  The  produce  of  leaves 
to  a  tree  within  a  few  months  was  marvellous.  By 
weighing  a  certain  number,  we  were  able  to  tell 
the  average  crop  per  acre.  I  planted  nearly  three 
hundred  acres.  The  number  of  worms  these  would 
feed  was  easily  ascertained,  as  well  as  the  amount 
of  cocoons  for  a  pound  of  raw-silk,  and  the  time 
required  in  its  reeling.  In  short,  that  twice  two 
are  four  is  not  clearer  mathematically  than  that  we* 
could  produce  a  superior  quality  of  silk  at  a  cost 
that  would  leave  a  net  profit  of  not  less  than  two 
hundred  per  cent.  Accordingly,  I  prepared  every 
thing  on  a  grand  scale. 

The  result  was  a  complete  failure.  A  blight  ruined 
my  trees  just  as  their  leaves  were  the  most  wanted  ; 
consequently,  the  worms  were  all  starved.  The 
natives  were  not  at  all  impressed  with  the  advan 
tages  of  systematic  labor,  and  thwarted  my  zeal  in 
their  behalf  in  every  possible  way  that  indolence  and 
selfish  cunning  could  devise.  In  short,  my  second 
enterprise  vised  up  my  remaining  funds,  and  the  only 
return  I  had  to  make  my  father  was  some  fine  sam 
ples  of  raw-silk,  the  sale  of  which  sufficed  to  pay 
the  freight  on  my  boxes  of  shells. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

SKIP  THIS;  'TIS  TOO  DRY. 

IF  my  object  were  simply  an  entertaining  or  dra 
matic  tale,  it  would  be  by  this  time  as  much  a  failure 
as  my  silk  speculation.  On  the  contrary,  I  have  noth 
ing  to  relate  but  what  has  or  might  have  happened 
to  any  other  son  of  woman.  Indeed,  I  do  not  wish 
to  make  a  story,  but  to  point  a  moral.  If,  therefore, 
my  narrative  is  like  a  Jacob's  coat  in  coloring,  some 
what  varied  and  spotty,  believe  me  it  is  intentional. 
Nothing  is  easier  than  to  picture  externals,  to  relate 
facts,  to  exhibit  symbolic  life.  The  craft  and  object 
of  common  novels  are  to  show  how  the  hero  looked 
and  acted.  I  would  rather  show  how  he  felt  and 
thought;  developing  the  progress  of  a  character, 
instead  of  a  mere  puppet  of  flesh  and  bones,  set  in 
motion  by  pen-wires. 

I  shall  suffer  for  this  in  your  estimation,  respected 
reader,  I  am  well  aware  ;  inasmuch  as  the  objective, 
whether  in  religion,  e very-day  life,  or  literature,  is 
more  entertaining  and  intelligible  than  the  subject 
ive.  In  seeking  to  blend  the  two,  so  as  to  show  how 
the  idea  became  a  fact,  and  the  fact  the  seed  of  a 
new  thought,  and  all  combined  to  work  out  the  prob- 


204  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

lem  of  my  human  existence,  I  am  attempting  what 
is  at  once  the  possibility  and  impossibility  of  all  art. 
Words  are  as  feeble  and  uncertain,  in  expressing  ideas, 
as  are  tools  and  material  in  rendering  the  entire 
thought  of  the  sculptor.  Artist  and  author  suffer 
from  a  two-fold  cause.  First,  as  above,  in  the  en 
deavor  to  compress  spirit  into  language,  or  shape  it 
into  matter ;  the  most  successful  of  which  attempts 
cannot  be  more  than  a  suggestion,  for  God  alone  is 
the  creator,  and  man  the  imitator.  Secondly,  because 
neither  artist  nor  author  —  and,  with  reverence,  I 
add  God  himself —  can  put  into  another  mind  more 
than  its  given  capacity.  Every  thought  received  is 
not  only  limited  to  the  intelligence  of  the  receiver, 
but  is  made  to  partake  of  the  hues  already  there 
fixed ;  consequently,  every  man  sees  only  with  his 
own  eyes,  and  weighs  everything  in  his  own  scales. 
He  who  gives  another  too  little  is  niggardly ;  if  he 
give  too  much,  he  is  unintelligible  ;  and,  worse  than 
either,  if  his  gift  be  riot  agreeably  presented,  he  is 
quietly  told  that  he  is  a  bore,  and  sent  to  Coventry. 
As,  however,  no  two  minds  are  alike,  so  truth 
never  presents  itself  in  precisely  the  same  shape 
and  quantity  to  different  individuals.  Each  human 
being  has  open  to  him  an  exhaustless  fountain,  from 
which  he  can  drink  his  own  fill,  if  not  frightened  by 
his  reflected  image.  Everywhere  in  life  he  must  see 
for  himself.  From  wall  and  water,  above  and  below, 
out  of  earth  and  sky,  appear  likeness  and  shadow. 
Be  not  startled,  for  they  are  witnesses  of  light  and 
life.  Truth  and  companionship  ever  encircle  us.  It 
depends  upon  ourselves  to  welcome  them.  This 


SKIP  THIS;  'TIS  TOO  DRY.  205 

knowledge  comforts  me.  The  same  elements  which 
nourish  my  soul  have  an  affinity  for  all  souls.  I  will 
not  be  frightened  at  my  own  nor  another's  shadow ; 
but  will  go  on,  unbosoming  myself  to  the  light,  and 
haply  off  my  mind's  growth  leaves  may  fall,  which, 
decayed  and  useless  to  me,  may  help  to  ripen  fruit 
to  another.  "Words  and  seeds  dropped  by  the  way 
side  are  the  waifs  of  Providence. 

If  every  one  at  all  times  uttered,  acted,  or  shaped, 
the  best  of  that  which  is  within  himself  or  herself, 
with  reference  only  to  its  being  his  or  her  best  coin, 
given  to  help  the  weaker  or  to  attract  strength  from 
the  stronger,  the  moral  and  intellectual  progress  of 
the  world  would  go  on  like  a  steam-express.  But 
we  are  afraid  to  show  ourselves  as  wo  are  to  our 
fellow-men,  or  to  reason  with  God.  Selfishness,  in 
dolence,  and  cowardice,  make  men  mean,  sensual, 
and  timid.  What  gold  can  purchase,  and  not  what 
spirit  can  know,  becomes  the  life-object.  If  the 
external  senses  thus  triumph,  there  is  a  cause  equal 
to  the  effect  ?  What  is  this  cause  ? 

Behold  one  vital  question.  This  solved,  what 
next  ?  Are  men  and  earth  final  ?  Is  life  the  begin 
ning  and  end  ?  Is  death  the  worm  that  changes  us 
back  to  dust,  making  us  the  phantoms  of  an  hour, 
hopelessly  bound  to  the  soiled  and  creaking  wheels 
of  time  ?  Are  we  governed  by  Chance,  Evil,  or 
Good  ?  To  what  destiny  is  Is  ? 

Why  do  we  toil,  to  win  disappointment  ?  Why  do 
we  love,  to  become  miserable  ?    Why  do  we  live,  to 
ache?  Why  do  we  think,  to  find  that  thought  recoils 
18 


206  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

upon  itself,  faint  and  imbecile  ?  Why  do  we  seek 
knowledge,  to  know  that  we  are  captives  to  igno 
rance  ?  Why,  having  learned  all  our  brains  can 
bear,  do  we  piteously  cry,  "  Help,  Lord,  our  unbe 
lief  "  ?  Why  are  we  within  this  circle  of  matter  at 
all? 

Tell  me  why  ignorance  is  worse  than  crime.  Nay, 
start  not !  Look  into  the  past,  read  the  present,  and 
you  will  see  that  uninformed  understandings,  rather 
than  depraved  wills,  most  oppress  humanity.  Tell 
me  the  object  of  crime.  It  exists,  and  must  have  a 
mission.  So  must  disease,  falsehood,  and  nature's 
disasters. 

You,  as  well  as  I,  have  struggled  to  solve  these 
problems.  Sooner  or  later  each  soul  must,  by  sound 
ing  their  depths,  get  a  foundation  from  which  to 
rise.  How  far  down  are  you,  my  brother  ?  How 
much  have  you  suffered,  my  sister?  May  we  not  all 
mount  together  ? 

Hark  !  hear  ye  not  those  mournful  cries  ?  A 
wailing  of  many  voices  reaches  my  ears.  There  is 
no  future  ;  there  is  no  God  !  Pleasure,  pain,  0  Earth  ! 
we  love  and  hate  ye  !  Cries  and  shouts,  fierce 
threatenings,  revellings  upon  the  soul's  scaffold, 
laughter  that  makes  me  weep,  and  sighs  that  make 
me  rejoice,  I  hear  !  An  infant  smiles,  and,  like  a  sen 
sitive  bud  touched  by  the  world's  frost,  throws  up 
its  little  arms  despairingly  to  its  mother,  and  is  gone. 
She  weeps  big  drops  of  sorrow. 

A  father  is  borne  prematurely  to  the  grave  by  a 
son's  ingratitude.  His  industry  now  feeds  harlots, 
and  enriches  the  gambler.  Another  parent's  avarice 


SKIP  THIS;  'TIS  TOO  DRY.  207 

crushes  the  soul  of  his  child,  whose  starved  mind 
recoils  to  vice,  as  virtue  in  contrast  with  home's 
lessons.  He  dies  a  felon,  and  the  parent  a  maniac. 
What  made  each  Society's  enemy  ? 

I  see  a  beauteous  woman,  —  a  mother,  —  with 
wealth,  impulses  instinctively  good,  the  child  of 
piety,  the  object  of  unnumbered  prayers  and  the 
fondest  parental  devotion,  loved  by  man  as  women 
seldom  are  loved,  yet  false  to  every  domestic  virtue, 
living  the  life  of  vanity  and  licentiousness,  amid 
divine  light,  and  upbraiding  God  for  her  own  ac 
tions.  "  If  there  be  a  God,"  says  she,  "  I  will  accuse 
him  of  injustice  at  his  very  throne  !  Why  did  he 
make  me  ?  "  Awful  words,  but  true.  I  have  heard 
such. 

But  why  continue  the  picture  ?  Each  reader  can 
frame  his  own  problem  of  being,  from  his  heart's  ex 
perience.  I  shall  continue  mine,  mosaic-like, — not 
after  the  Roman  fashion,  from  an  innumerable  vari 
ety  of  artificial  colors,  but  more  as  the  Florentine 
works  —  big  pieces  of  natural  stones  inlaid  upon  a 
broad  surface,  here  a  bit  and  there  a  bit  of  life's 
doings,  as  a  text  for  my  thoughts. 

I  must  go  on,  —  alone,  if  need  be,  —  but  I  must 
go  on.  And  yet  my  disappointment  —  an  author's 
disappointment,  mark !  —  may  be  the  greatest  of 
all.  For  what  recoil  of  life  is  more  crushing  than 
to  find  that  its  heart-beats  and  soul-flow  have  been 
made  the  butt  of  scoffers,  the  target  of  ridicule, 
or  the  jest  of  indifference  ?  Bad  as  this  may  be, 
it  were  still  worse  to  be  wholly  unread.  I  con 
fess  to  this  fear ;  but,  understood  or  not,  there 


208  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

is  a  haven  of  hope  and  repose  as  well  for  the  writer 
as  the  reader.  Where  and  what  that  haven  is,  if 
time  and  strength  permit,  I  shall  try  to  show  in  the 
final  dissection  of  life's  fitful  Doing  and  Desire. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

DRIER   STILL  —  OH  ! 

RESUSCITATION  of  life  after  any  manner  is  full  of 
pain.  The  spirit,  so  nigh  free,  resists  being  recalled  ; 
and  it  is  only  through  gaspings,  convulsions,  and 
throes,  it  submits  to  fleshly  rehabitation.  So,  when 
our  mental  eyes  are  suddenly  opened  by  harsh  ex 
perience,  the  burning  glare  of  disappointment  con 
fuses  and  vexes  our  souls.  We  desire  to  escape 
out  of  the  anxious,  hard  actual,  into  the  spiritual 
of  our  nature  ;  and  it  is  with  repining  we  learn  that 
the  only  road  to  the  latter  runs  through  the  former. 

The  knowledge  that  precedes  wisdom  is  the 
plough  that  prepares  the  soil  for  the  harvest.  Each 
one  of  us  is  an  Adam.  We  walk  through  an  Eden 
of  our  own,  in  happy  unconsciousness,  until  a 
chance-bitten  apple  drives  us  out.  While  impulses 
sway  reason,  new  paradises  are  quickly  found,  each 
more  beautiful  and  permanent  than  the  last,  until 
repeated  exiles  teach  us  not  to  cry  for  the  moon. 

No  man  can  resolve  all  questions  of  life  for  an 
other.  Each  in  finding  his  own  way  may  guide  his 
brother  somewhat,  but  there  are  as  many  different 
roads  to  truth  as  there  are  souls.  Yet  truth  is  a 
18* 


210  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

unit.  The  darkening  of  mind  which  attends  each 
baffled  effort  is  the  index  of  a  brave,  earnest  spirit ; 
the  beginning  of  the  determination  to  win,  just  as 
the  consciousness  of  evil  implies  the  possibility  of 
good.  Man's  "  Golden  Age  "  was  automatic.  His 
happiness  was  that  of  ignorance.  Without  will,  he 
was  without  responsibility ;  without  knowledge,  he 
was  without  wisdom,  and  differed  from  brutes  only 
in  form  and  speech.  Expulsion  from  Paradise 
awoke  the  instincts  of  a  man. 

Why,  then,  should  we  regret  that  the  gates  of  our 
Edens  are  successively  closed  upon  us  ?  We  go 
forth  to  labor  for  something  higher  and  better.  But 
each  blessing  awaits  its  legitimate  turn.  If  we  lag, 
Nature  benumbs  our  faculties  ;  if  we  over-press  her, 
like  a  mule  she  throws  us,  and  we  gather  cunning 
amid  mud  and  kicks.  How  are  we  to  find  our  way, 
and  moderate  our  speed  ?  Exactly  by  losing  it,  and 
being  upset.  The  first  man  had  his  choice  between 
the  instinct  of  an  animal  sinless  and  soulless,  and 
the  free-will  of  a  human  being.  He  chose  the  latter. 
For  one,  I  thank  him  for  it.  Through  tribulation, 
oppression,  melancholy,  soreness,  and  ignorance,  we 
are  slowly  but  surely  asserting  our  birthrights. 

Courage,  therefore  !  I  had  need  of  courage,  after 
two  such  failures  as  I  had  made.  I  had  sought 
knowledge,  and  became  blind ;  I  sought  independ 
ence,  and  became  dependent.  Neither  aim  was  based 
on  selfishness.  In  both  my  desire  was  to  extend 
good. 

In  what  consisted  my  wrong?  Young  as  I  then 
was,  my  reason  could  not  answer  this  question.  I 


DRIER  STILL  —  OH  !  211 

had  ploughed,  dunged,  and  planted.  I  had  obeyed 
every  possible  law  of  material  and  moral  success 
•within  my  consciousness.  Why,  therefore,  should 
a  contemptible  insect  or  degraded  savage  have 
power  to  ruin  me?  In  the  golden  age  of  youth, 
we  talk  with  gods.  Our  impulses  aspire  to  divine 
things.  We  would  be  gods,  receiving  and  diffusing 
happiness,  and  creating  worlds  at  will.  These  are  the 
efforts  of  the  unfledged  bird  to  fly.  They  proclaim 
our  relation  to  divinity,  but  at  the  same  time  our 
feebleness ;  for,  were  we  what  we  wish  to  be,  wiU 
and  fruition  would  be  one. 

Labor  and  experience  are  the  parents  of  knowl 
edge.  Work,  progression,  are  the  guide-boards  of 
heaven.  But  it  does  not  suffice  simply  to  work. 
We  must  take  each  step  in  its  appointed  course. 
Disappointments,  diseases,  and  evils,  are  the  senti 
nels  which  watch  over  the  celestial  road. 

Youth  is  perplexed  between  aspirations  and 
necessities.  If  enthusiastic  and  generous,  it  ideal 
izes  the  world,  seeks  to  fly,  and  tumbles  momentarily 
into  a  ditch  ;  if  sordid  and  selfish,  it  makes  no  effort 
to  soar,  but  contentedly  crawls  in  safety  upon  the 
earth.  Yet  we  must  learn  to  stand  before  we  walk, 
and  to  walk  before  we  can  fly.  Far  better  is  it  to 
tumble  in  efforts  to  mount,  than  to  creep  unbruised, 
with  eyes  forever  fixed  on  the  dirt. 

I  had  attempted  too  much.  My  standard  was  too 
high,  compared  with  the  wants  of  those  with  whom 
I  had  to  deal.  Besides,  I  had  had  no  experience  of 
the  vicissitudes  of  agriculture.  Consequently  I 
failed.  The  satisfaction  of  having  attempted  a  use- 


212  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

ful  work  was  all  that  was  left  me  ;  yet  not  all,  for  I 
had  learned  that  no  intentions,  however  praise 
worthy,  can  insure  success,  unless  in  obedience  to 
providential  laws.  Swine  no  more  appreciate 
pearls  in  the  nineteenth  century  than  in  the  first. 
A  well-filled  swill-pail  would  have  made  them  far 
more  tractable,  and  me  rich. 

I  was  now  just  enough  advanced  in  worldly  expe 
rience  to  discover  that  my  first  step  for  progress, 
whether  in  my  affections  or  mind,  must  be  through 
supplies  to  my  body.  Money,  therefore,  represented 
not  only  food,  raiment,  and  health,  but  love  and 
intellect.  To  be  without  it  would  be  like  being 
without  lungs.  Keason  was  but  a  chairman  of  a 
committee  of  ways  and  means.  To  every  aspiring 
mind  there  is  something  degrading  in  the  discovery 
of  the  omnipotence  of  money.  The  necessity  of 
earning  it  as  the  basis  of  life,  wilts  and  paralyzes 
the  spirit.  We  would  be  free  from  all  hunger  and 
thirst,  except  the  hunger  and  thirst  after  righteous 
ness.  As  we  go  on  and  open  our  eyes  to  its  in 
fluence  over  mind,  we  are  still  further  dismayed  at 
the  prospect.  What !  so  much  labor  to  earn  the 
wherewithal  to  clothe  and  feed  us  ?  Art,  science, 
progress  of  all  kinds,  moral  and  political  freedom, 
even  religion,  depending  upon  the  time  and  means 
money  yields  ! 

Even  so.  Money  is  the  great  representative  of 
exchanges,  whether  of  good  or  evil.  It  is  the  social 
paradox  ;  at  once  the  revivifier  and  corrupter  of 
society ;  a  Providence  or  a  Satan,  as  we  will  its  use. 
Without  it,  I  am  blind,  deaf,  dumb.  With  it,  I  may 


DRIER  STILL  —  OH  !  213 

be  equally  so.  Its  character  is  protean,  like  its  pos 
sessors  !  The  magnet  of  matter,  all  things  turn 
towards  it.  Power  like  this  must  be  legitimate. 
Whence  is  it? 

Its  father  is  Commerce.  Man's  first  step  towards 
civilization  is  through  force.  Like  an  infant,  he 
obeys  his  impulses,  strikes,  seizes,  and  gets.  Thence 
War,  the  consolidator  of  families  into  nations.  Con 
quests  beget  peace.  As  the  mental  scope  is  en 
larged,  need  and  desire  become  wider  and  more 
active,  but  less  ferocious.  We  now  reach  the  second 
steps  of  man's  progress,  namely,  Commerce.  Its 
active  principle  is  the  same  at  foundation  as  that 
of  war.  Whatever  advantages  follow  in  its  train,  in 
bringing  the  human  family  into  familiar  and  peaceful 
relationship,  diffusing  wealth,  and  redeeming  the 
world  from  a  wilderness  to  a  garden,  its  basis  is 
selfish  and  separate  acquisition.  Consequently,  it 
is  but  an  elementary  and  inferior  agent  in  civiliza 
tion,  and  from  it  necessarily  arises  a  host  of  evils, 
second  only  in  degree  to  those  of  mere  force.  As 
it  administers  chiefly  to  the  external  man,  it  has  a 
sensual,  luxurious,  covetous,  and  corrupting  tend 
ency,  but  it  elevates  him  from  worse  conditions. 
Born  directly  of  material  wants,  it  must  continue 
the  dominant  principle  of  life,  everywhere  active  by 
its  agent,  money,  until  men  pass  through  their 
present  stage  of  progress,  and  attain  a  more  elevated 
and  less  partial  standard  of  action,  founded  upon 
the  development  of  still  superior  faculties  of  their 
nature.  At  present  the  watchword  of  society  is 
property.  This,  in  time,  will  be  superseded  by  a 


214  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

more  humanizing  cry.  As  war  and  trade  depreciate 
in  human  esteem  as  systems  of  universal  action, 
their  attendant  evils  will  correspondingly  de 
crease.  What  may  succeed  them  as  the  social 
leaven,  is  -as  yet  a  problem.  But  men  have  begun 
to  discuss  the  abstract  merits  of  the  present  means 
and  ends  of  life,  and  to  inquire  earnestly  for  better. 
From  out  of  their  struggles  will  be  evolved  the 
great  third  element  of  progress. 

The  antipathy  of  women  and  the  young  to  trade 
is  founded  on  a  deep  principle  of  human  nature. 
With  them  it  is  a  blind  impulse.  Reason,  through 
experience,  arrives  at  a  similar  result.  Both  youth 
ful  feeling  and  adult  wisdom  are  convinced,  through 
two  distinct  mental  operations,  that  something  nobler 
and  more  satisfying  must  arrive,  to  appease  their 
aspirations.  If  life  exist  simply  as  a  final  opportu 
nity  to  labor  with  hands,  to  supply  bread  to  mouths, 
and  clothes  to  backs,  scanty  to  the  many,  and  abun 
dant  to  the  few,  a  transitory  partial  system  of  eating 
and  drinking  to  hunger  and  thirst  again,  ending  in  a 
repetition  of  similar  wants  and  vulgar  necessities, 
perpetuated,  through  our  means,  to  an  indefinite 
series  of  human  selves,  ever  turning  but  never  ad 
vancing  the  wheel  of  humanity,  without  any  innate 
consciousness,  approved  by  reason,  of  something 
better  in  store,  then  indeed  life  is  a  mockery,  and 
its  author  a  fiend. 

But  this  is  true  in  neither  sense.  If  but  one  hu 
man  being  had  been  born  to  the  appreciation  of  a 
nobler  life,  it  would  demonstrate  the  capacity  of  the 
entire  race  to  ultimately  solve  it.  You,  dear  reader, 


DRIER   STILL  —  OH  !  215 

are  that  one.  If  you  are  not,  I  am,  and  my  life  is 
but  a  faint  echo  of  the  great  whole.  I  abhorred 
business  in  a  commercial  sense.  To  be  chained  to 
that,  was  undergoing  the  fate  of  Prometheus.  Yet, 
in  one  way  or  another,  every  human  being  must 
expiate  his  blind  impulses  on  the  rock  of  practical 
life.  The  contest  between  spirit  and  matter  is, 
that  each  may  have  its  just  due.  Through  a  har 
mony  attainable  only  by  constant  warfare  does 
nature  soothe  and  elevate  our  souls.  There  are  no 
first-class  cars  to  heaven. 

Such  are  my  present  sentiments.  But  I  did  not 
then  know  that  the  road  to  success  is  often  through 
defeat.  The  failure  of  my  plantation  left  me  in 
debt.  Farewell,  then,  to  any  sudden  realization  of 
my  union  with  Constantia !  I  would  not  return 
home  poor  and  dependent.  I  hated  even  to  be  in 
debted  to  my  father.  Money  must  be  had,  or  I 
perish.  Never  before  or  since  did  I  so  realize  its 
omnipotence.  Its  want  made  me  a  beggar  to  love, 
knowledge,  independence,  and  benevolence.  All 
that  the  soul  holds  dearest  lay  helpless  at  its  feet. 
With  the  feelings  I  then  possessed,  I  do  not  wonder 
that  men  with  blasted  hopes  blaspheme,  or  become 
criminal,  mistaking  in  their  despair  the  servant  for 
the  master.  In  worshipping  the  golden  calf,  society 
perpetrates  a  fearful  wrong  on  the  weak  and  unin- 
structed. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  relate  the  steps  by  which  I 
entered  commercial  life  at  Lilibolu,  this  time  re 
solved  to  confine  myself  to  legitimate  money-making. 
The  most  difficult  thing  I  ever  attempted  to  master 


216  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

was  Double  and  Single  Entry ;  the  most  revolting 
thing  I  ever  attempted  to  do  was  to  sell.  In  buy 
ing  there  is  a  pleasure,  because  it  is  in  an  inferior 
sense  a  species  of  creation.  We  pay,  and  things 
exist  to  us.  In  selling,  we  deprive  another  of  what 
our  impulse  is  rather  to  bestow  than  take,  and  as 
we  gain  so  must  the  other  lose.  This  is  very 
unphilosophical  in  a  mercantile  sense.  I  know  all 
about  the  doctrine  of  exchanges,  but  I  never  have 
got  over  a  feeling  of  mortification  in  asking  a  return 
in  money.  Bargaining  irritated  me.  But,  to  be 
successful,  one  must  be  self-possessed  and  sharp- 
witted.  Fortunately,  I  was  in  a  part  of  the  world 
where  trade  was  simple,  and  so  profitable,  being  in 
few  hands,  as  not  to  develop  its  meanest  features. 
In  four  years  I  paid  my  debts  and  acquired  a  com 
petency. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A   NOTE    ON   THE   MINOR   KEY. 

A  COLD  mist  lay  over  the  water.  Through  it  the 
shores  were  barely  discernible,  but  their  familiar 
outlines,  dimly  as  I  made  them  out,  brought  back 
my  boyhood  so  vividly,  that  my  long  absence  be 
came  obliterated,  and  I  was  as  one  awakening  from 
a  dream.  Yet  more  than  six  years  had  gone  by 
since  I  had  sailed  down  this  harbor  on  my  voyage 
to  Polynesia.  For  ten  months  I  had  heard  nothing 
from  home.  The  gorgeous,  fiery  tropic,  with  its 
novel  experiences,  were  all  for  the  moment  wiped 
off  memory's  sheet,  while  every  early  act  and 
thought  that  connected  me  with  those  dear  ones, 
whose  welcome  was  so  nigh,  shone  out  like  invisible 
ink  before  heat.  It  was  in  vain  I  strove  to  be  calm. 
The  vessel  had  become  a  cage,  and  minutes  stretched 
out  into  hours.  As  the  heavy  chain  at  last  rattled 
through  the  hawse-hole,  I  sprang  over  the  side  into 
a  boat,  and  in  a  few  minutes  was  on  the  wharf.  My 
first  impulse  was  to  rush  to  my  father's  house ;  but 
so  many  conflicting  emotions  beset  me,  that  to  quiet 
myself  I  concluded  to  walk  slowly  through  the 
principal  streets  before  meeting  my  mother.  I  saw 
19 


218  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

many  I  knew,  but  no  one  recognized  me.  It  was 
a  strange  pleasure;  this  knowing  every  one  and 
everything,  noting  the  most  trivial  changes  in  sign 
boards,  and  every  alteration  of  house  or  individual, 
—  all  things  familiar,  yet  nothing  precisely  the  same 
as  it  was  six  years  before, — without  a  glance  of  joy 
or  curiosity  in  return.  I  might  as  well  have  been  a 
spirit,  so  far  as  passing  unobserved  through  all  this 
busy  life  was  concerned.  It  suited  me.  I  wished 
simply  to  cross  my  father's  threshold,  walk  into  my 
mother's  library,  quietly  take  her  hand,  and,  after 
one  kiss,  say,  as  if  but  a  forenoon  had  elapsed  since 
our  meeting,  "  Good-morning,  mother ;  here  I  am 
again."  What  had  been  our  separation  ?  Our  hearts 
had  been  entwined,  and  whether  our  eyes  greeted 
each  other  hourly,  or  but  yearly,  or  even  centuries 
intervened,  we  had  never  been  apart.  It  was  the 
intensity  and  depth  of  my  love  for  her  that  made 
me  so  calm  and  assured  in  absence. 

The  fever,  which  at  first  had  set  every  nerve 
jumping  with  impatience,  gradually  changed  into  a 
soft  melancholy.  I  began  to  feel  a  reluctance  to  go 
home,  and  too£  several  unnecessary  turns  through 
the  streets  to  protract  my  arrival.  As  I  passed  the 
church  door  which  I  had  so  often  entered  with  my 
mother,  I  saw  it  was  open,  and  heard  from  within 
the  sound  of  the  organ.  This  instrument  possesses 
a  sort  of  magnetic  power  over  me.  Its  rich,  super 
human  tones  lift  me  out  of  myself,  and  suggest  a 
power  and  praise  born  more  of  the  celestial  spheres 
than  man's  mechanism.  I  went  in,  and  took  a  seat 
near  the  door.  The  choir  was  chanting  the  com- 


A  NOTE   ON  THE  MINOR  KEY.  219 

forting  words  of  John,  "  Blessed  are  the  dead  who 
die  in  the  Lord  :  even  so  saith  the  spirit ;  for  they 
rest  from  their  labors.77  As  they  finished,  and  the 
minister  rose,  and  began  the  Lord's  Prayer,  through 
the  dim  light  from  the  stained  glass  windows,  I 
could  see  near  the  altar  a  small  group  of  mourners 
gathered  around  a  coffin.  A  few  stifled  sobs  faintly 
fell  on  my  ear  during  the  solemn  pauses  of  the 
clergyman.  All  else  was  sadly  calm  and  tranquilliz 
ing.  The  scene  harmonized  with  my  feelings,  and  I 
remained  until  the  service  was  finished,  but  went 
out  before  the  people  stirred. 

On  passing  into  the  noisy,  bustling  streets,  every 
thing  appeared  more  unreal  than  before.  I  walked 
through  them  as  if  I  were  a  shadow.  Not  a  word 
nor  sound  reached  my  ears.  My  eyes,  by  some 
strange  impression,  felt  as  if  drawn  out  of  my  head, 
by  gazing  into  vacancy,  in  search  of  something  un 
known  to  myself.  How  I  found  my  father's  door, 
I  know  not ;  but  when  at  last  I  got  there,  my  exter 
nal  senses  appeared  as  if  they  did  not  belong  to  me, 
and  were  being  used  by  some  extraneous  volition, 
while  my  mind  was  groping  through  cloud-land. 
There  are  some  moments,  I  presume,  in  every  one's 
life,  when  identity  appears  lost  or  paralyzed.  The 
excitement  I  had  undergone  in  my  anticipated  ar 
rival,  with  the  eifort  to  soothe  my  nerves,  joined  to 
the  impressive  scene  in  the  church,  had  thoroughly 
mystified  me. 

I  mechanically  rang  the  bell,  and,  as  the  domestic 
opened  the  door,  passed  in.  Everything  looked 
precisely  as  it  did  the  day  I  had  left.  Without  say- 


220  HEAET-EXPERIENCE. 

ing  a  word  to  the  servant,  —  a  strange  face,  that 
suspiciously  watched  me, — I  hurried  to  my  mother's 
little  library,  feeling  sure  to  meet  her  there.  He 
followed  me,  asking  who  I  was,  and  what  I  wanted. 
I  entered  the  room  without  answering  him.  On  her 
table  lay  her  writing-desk,  opened,  and  as  if  lately  in 
use  ;  her  favorite  books  were  spread  about,  after  her 
usual  manner  ;  the  same  prints  were  on  the  walls 
as  when  I  left,  including  some  of  my  early  anti 
quarian  collections ;  and  the  only  addition  to  her 
treasures  that  I  saw  was  a  crayon  likeness  of  my 
self,  which  I  had  given  her  the  day  we  parted,  and 
the  few  shells  she  had  selected  from  those  I  had 
sent  home,  and  which  were  prettily  arranged  on 
the  mantel-piece.  I  sat  down  in  her  chair  in  silence, 
waiting  for  her  to  appear.  Again  the  man  repeated 
his  inquiries.  I  looked  at  him  in  amazement,  not 
comprehending  how  I  could  thus  be  a  stranger  in 
my  mother's  room.  At  last,  resenting  his  intrusion, 
I  said,  somewhat  sternly,  "  Tell  your  mistress  I  am 
here ! " 

"  My  mistress,  sir,  died  two  days  since,  and  is 
buried  to-day." 

I  felt  it  all — the  church — my  mother's  funeral ! — 
What !  was  I  not  to  see  her  face  again?  "It  cannot 
be  !  She  is  alive  —  she  must  live  !  Father  in  heaven, 
hast  thou  done  this  to  me?  Give  me  back  my 
mother ! "  I  rose,  staggered  towards  the  door, 
fiercely  intending  to  stop  the  funeral,  and  make 
them  bring  her  home  again.  "  Dead  !  she  is  not 
dead  !  Nay,  nay !  It  is  but  a  dream  !  —  where  am 
I?  Go,  I  say,  and  call  her !  Do  you  not  hear  me ? 


A  NOTE   ON  THE  MINOR  KEY.  221 

Go,  then  !  —  help  me  !  She  shall  meet  me  here  — 
here  where  we  parted!  0,  God!  call  to  them  — 
stop  —  stop,  I  say  !  "  My  brain  suddenly  became 
like  lead,  and  I  fell  lifeless  upon  the  floor. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

TWO   MOURNERS. 

MY  father's  roof  sheltered  two  sincere  mourners. 
But  from  what  different  aspects  we  viewed  the  dead  ! 
Yet  grief  produced  in  each  the  same  deportment. 
It  separated  us  more  than  ever.  We  each  suffered 
in  silence,  for  neither  of  us  would  speak  our  feel 
ings.  As  for  myself,  so  wholly  did  my  mother  seem 
to  belong  to  me,  that  any  attempt  at  soothing,  or 
even  an  allusion  to  her,  from  any  one,  would  have 
irritated  me.  My  sad  independence  was  fully  re 
spected. 

The  stern  reserve  of  my  father  equally  forbade 
any  approach  to  him.  My  presence  in  some  degree 
angered  him,  because  it  recalled  a  latent  jealousy  I 
had  long  ago  remarked,  arising  from  what  he  could 
not  fail  to  feel,  that  in  the  lost  one  the  mother  had 
overpowered  the  wife  in  our  mutual  relations.  With 
out  willing  it,  therefore,  the  impulses  and  associa 
tions  connected  with  me  made  him  not  exactly  un 
friendly,  but  cold  and  repellent.  So,  in  truth,  both 
father  and  mother  were  gone  from  me. 

Surely  it  was  no  fault  of  mine  that  my  mother 
found  in  my  nature  more  to  attract  and  develop  hers 


TWO    MOURNERS.  223 

The  law  of  affinities  is  as 
penetrating  as  light.  Of  their  own  volition,  our  souls, 
like  water,  ever  seek  to  rise  to  their  own  level  j  and 
as  their  intuitions  find  repose  or  progress,  so  must 
they  go.  My  father  had  lived  a  one-sided  life,  and 
now  the  truth  began  to  break  upon  him  that  the 
only  relation  he  had  permitted  had  been  that  of  duty. 
Faithfully  had  the  departed  one  fulfilled  this  law. 
Never  was  a  household  more  perfectly  conducted 
than  my  mother's.  Her  husband's  tastes  and  com 
forts  had  been  so  jealously  provided  for,  that,  for  a 
while  left  without  his  ministering  agent,  he  felt  as 
helpless  and  strange  as  if  suddenly  translated  to 
another  sphere.  Every  want  had  been  anticipated. 
If  weary  or  ill,  a  devotion  and  tenderness,  —  divine 
in  its  nature,  because  it  could  not  be  returned, — 
surrounded  him  with  a  healing,  soothing  atmosphere. 
So  constant  had  been  this  deportment,  that  he  had 
come  to  view  it  as  simply  the  natural  result  of  the 
relation  of  wife  to  husband.  He  entered  into  no 
female  society,  and  consequently  knew  nothing  of 
womanhood  in  general.  Thus  it  happened  that  only 
through  deprivation  did  he  realize  the  value  of  her 
he  had  lost  as  a  partner  in  life. 

This  loss  was  irreparable.  The  external  relation 
ships,  which  alone  he  had  admitted,  being  so  sud 
denly  withdrawn,  he  was  left  to  mourn  as  one  who 
could  not  be  comforted.  Where  were  now  the  warm 
slippers,  the  punctual  meals,  the  silence,  order,  and 
neatness  —  the  subdued  yet  cheerful  welcome  that 
ever  awaited  him?  Where  were  the  hands  that  put 
each  shirt  ready  and  faultless  at  his  bedside  ;  that 


224  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

left  neither  rents  nor  lack  of  buttons,  to  vex  him  ? 
Where  was  she  who  knew  his  weaknesses  but  to 
disguise  them,  and  his  virtues  but  to  exaggerate 
them  ?  Where  was  that  quiet  presence  that  listened 
when  he  talked  ;  that  active  mind  that  gathered  the 
pleasant  daily  chit-chat  to  amuse  him  when  the  news 
paper  failed?  —  She  who  was  silent  if  that  mood 
most  pleased  him.  but  could  join  in  the  infective 
laugh  and  hearty  joke  at  his  unbending.  Where, 
indeed,  was  his  domestic  providence  ? 

Ah,  where  ?  Poor  man !  he  had  lived  on  these  vir 
tues  of  another  as  his  own  of  right ;  and,  when 
taken  from  him,  he  realized  his  own  nakedness. 
Well  may  he  grieve  !  Business  men,  reflect !  The 
woman-partner  of  your  household  is,  in  truth,  an 
active  partner  in  your  commerce.  Without  her  duti 
ful  care  to  smooth  your  path,  how  could  you  go  out 
to  win  the  golden  goal  ?  Without  her  welcome  to 
soothe  and  rest  your  over-anxious  minds,  how  could 
you  return  reinvigo rated  to  your  daily  conflicts  ? 
Does  not  such  an  one  earn  something  more  than 
board  and  lodging  ?  If  your  pride,  or  avarice,  will 
not  permit  her  to  finger  the  profits,  as  much  hers  as 
yours,  give  her  roofed  life,  at  the  least,  confidence, 
sympathy,  and  the  daily  news. 

My  clientage  is  indeed  not  large,  though  a  sad  one. 
But  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  Through 
such  we  realize  a  bit  of  heaven  on  earth.  All  honor, 
therefore,  to  those  noble  souls,  who,  shipwrecked  in 
love,  cleave  the  more  firmly  to  duty  ! 

A  more  earnestly  disinterested  woman  than  my 
mother  I  never  have  seen.  A  De  Stael,  through 


TWO    MOURNERS.  225 

intellect,  wins  fame  and  influence.  But,  could  my 
mother's  reputation  have  been  measured  by  the  kind 
words  she  had  spoken  in  season  to  humble  human 
ity  ;  by  the  never-ending  practical  charities,  —  by 
the  hearts  she  had  cheered,  the  minds  she  had  en 
couraged  ;  by  the  purity  of  her  motives,  the  lofti 
ness  of  her  self-sacrificing  principles,  and  her  divine 
trust,  —  it  would  be  found  that  a  soul  like  hers,  too 
refined  to  bear  the  coarse  imprint  of  the  world, 
makes  a  deep  impression  in  heaven. 

People  had  wondered  why  the  wife  of  so  rich  a 
man  dressed  so  plainly  ;  why  all  her  personal  ex 
penses  were  on  so  economical  a  scale.  After  her 
death,  her  accounts  showed  that  every  dollar  she 
received  from  my  father,  not  absolutely  necessary  to 
her  decent  appearance,  had  been  given  away  to  those 
whose  needs  the  world  could  seldom  know  or  sus 
pect.  How  often  have  I  seen  her  grieve  over  her 
limited  means,  and  plan  to  do  without  something 
herself  to  aid  another  !  Her  charities  were  aimed  as 
much  at  elevating  heart  and  mind  as  in  clothing  or 
feeding  the  body ;  so  that  good  books  and  sympathy 
in  all  that  was  hopeful,  refined,  and  cheering,  she 
dispensed  as  freely  as  she  did  money.  Yet  she  was 
a  woman  of  many  tears.  There  were  disappoint 
ments  in  her  life,  which,  in  imparting  moral  instruc 
tion  to  me,  she  had  vaguely  hinted  at,  that  told  me, 
if  she  had  subdued  herself  to  duty,  it  had  been 
through  agony  of  spirit.  Her  placidity  was  the 
quiet  of  fathomless  water.  Every  life  has  its  ro 
mance,  either  of  passion  or  denial.  Hers  was  the 
last.  The  only  anger  she  ever  manifested  was  in 


226  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

scornful  reproach  at  selfish  acquisitiveness.  Will 
not  the  recording  angel's  tear  blot  out  the  hasty 
word  for  this  ?  Mine  drops  as  I  recall  her  indignant 
protests  at  meanness  of  soul. 

All  that  she  had  to  leave  me,  that  she  could  call 
wholly  her  own,  was  some  of  her  hair,  in  a  plain 
mourning  pin,  intermixed  with  a  flaxen  curl  taken 
from  my  head  when  I  was  an  infant.  This  was 
enough. 

If  my  father  felt  that  she  had  been  taken  away,  I, 
in  time,  grew  to  feel  that  she  could  never  be  taken 
from  me.  The  same  sympathetic  presence  that  had 
ever  been  with  me  when  away  from  home  came 
r.gain  to  me  from  her  new  home,  and  was  of  and  in 
me  —  a  something  that  was  never  to  be  separated 
from  my  being.  Feeling  what  I  could  not  impart, 
the  consolation  of  words  would  have  been  a  mock 
ery.  Nevertheless,  I  missed  her  much-loved  form 
as  only  a  son  can  miss  such  a  mother  on  earth.  How 
often  is  it  thoughtlessly  said  that  we  forget  the  dead 
as  soon  as  the  sod  covers  them  !  The  dead  are  more 
likely  to  forget  us.  We  look  upward  towards  them ; 
they,  we  trust,  are  looking  upward  still.  Though  it 
be  from  us,  their  gaze  is  toward  eternal  joy. 


CHAPTER    XXYII. 

LOVE   FLIES   OFF. 

TURN  we  from  one  love  to  another.  Possessing 
no  one  but  my  mother  and  Constantia  in  whom  to 
repose  my  affections,  they  were  concentred  on  them 
with  great  intensity.  After  the  death  of  the  for 
mer,  I  turned  more  longingly  than  ever  to  the  latter. 
I  had  not  yet  seen  nor  heard  from  her,  and,  in  the 
first  depths  of  my  grief,  scarcely  took  note  that  she 
had  not  written  me.  Indeed,  as  my  arrival  home 
could  not  have  been  anticipated,  she  was  probably 
unaware  of  my  return.  As  soon  as  possible  I  set 
out  for  her  residence,  without  apprizing  her  by  letter 
of  my  intention. 

The  beauty  of  youthful  love  is  its  innocence  and 
faith.  We  love  then  freely  and  naturally  as  wild- 
flowers  grow,  rooting  our  affections  wherever  a 
chance  seed  may  have  dropped,  unconscious  of  and 
uncaring  for  the  brambles  and  hungry  birds  that 
threaten  its  existence.  While  the  nestling  little 
plant  lives,  it  is  the  more  beautiful  for  blooming 
amid  a  wilderness.  Its  delicate  petals  and  genuine 
fragrance  greet  us  with  a  loveliness  enhanced  by 
contrast  with  the  treacherous  and  rough  nature 


228  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

amid  which  it  has  cast  its  lot.  Old  heads  shake 
sagaciously  and  smile  as  they  look  on  young  hearts, 
and  whisper,  "  What  a  pity  it  can't  last !  "  Your  pity 
is  not  needed,  gray-beards  !  Doubt  with  you  may 
be  a  virtue,  because  founded  on  experience,  without 
which  knowledge  is  hopeless.  But  the  virtue  of 
childhood,  whether  of  individuals  or  nations,  is  faith ; 
that  blind  loyalty  to  inborn  principles  which  incites  to 
lofty  aspirations  and  noble  actions.  Before  the  chill 
of  scepticism  roots  itself  in  the  mind,  we  follow  our 
hopes  as  free  and  happy  of  wing  as  the  singing  lark ; 
and,  like  that  bird,  rejoice  ever  in  sunny  skies.  Our 
hearts  are  not  yet  attuned  to  the  melody  of  the 
nightingale  from  out  of  its  shadowy,  moonlit  haunts. 
The  time  must  come  when  we  shall  learn  there  can 
be  sweet  and  welcome  harmony  even  out  of  sorrow 
and  disappointment,  as  doubt,  in  prompting  reason 
to  greater  efforts  to  arrive  at  truth,  ultimately  opens 
loftier  sources  of  belief.  But  each  in  its  turn.  Let 
youth  enjoy  its  instinctive  action,  for  it  is  the  seed 
time  of  life. 

Never  was  a  trust  in  another  more  complete  than 
mine  in  the  faith  of  Constantia.  The  possibility 
that  she  could  not  love  me  as  I  did  her  no  more 
entered  my  head  than  did  any  calculations  of  self- 
interest,  or  distrust  as  to  our  mutual  fitness.  With 
me  love  had  become,  during  my  absence,  a  genuine 
sentiment,  centred  on  her,  asking  no  questions, 
vexed  with  no  doubts,  a  companion  in  solitude,  a 
solace  in  affliction,  and  an  inspiration  for  the  suc 
cessful  effort  I  had  made  to  be  in  a  position  to  claim 
Constantia  as  wife.  So  deep  a  hold  had  this  ro- 


LOVE  FLIES   OFF.  229 

mance  of  life  upon  pie,  that  I  had  intuitively  avoid 
ed  female  society,  not  out  of  an  exaggerated  feeling 
of  constancy,  but  simply  because  the  affection  I  cher 
ished  for  her  was  all-sufficient  for  me.  The  more  I 
sacrificed  to  my  love,  the  more  dear  it  became.  Sep 
aration,  temptation,  unequal  mental  growth,  different 
development  of  tastes  and  objects  of  life,  jealousy 
or  calumny,  as  causes  sufficient  to  endanger  my 
love-balloon,  were  as  remote  from  my  atmosphere  as 
the  furthest  comet.  How  beautifully  it  soared 
aloft !  What  a  rich,  picturesque  view  of  life  it 
gave  me  !  —  green  meadows,  sunny  slopes,  brilliant 
flowers  ;  birds,  air,  and  water,  uniting  in  one  soft, 
dreamy  melody ;  all  nature  smiling  as  it  reflected  my 
hopes  and  happiness.  Have  you  never  gone  up, 
dear  reader,  in  such  a  balloon  ?  No  !  Ah  me !  you 
have  lost  one  of  life's  prettiest  pictures. 

Comforting  and  delicious  is  unquestioning  belief. 
It  is  our  promised  paradise  :  love's  first  fruit,  in 
fancy's  joy,  and  reason's  regret,  Bitter,  very  bitter, 
is  the  Fall ;  the  mind's  trial  essay  to  know ;  to  walk 
through  intellect.  Yet  love  must  pass  this  ordeal ; 
discipline  its  impulses,  learn  to  know  itself,  another, 
and  be  accepted  of  reason,  before  it  can  be  final. 
No  copartnership  in  which  all  interests  are  not  com 
mon  can  be  enduring ;  no  union  can  last  in  which 
temperaments,  affections,  and  minds,  do  not  harmo 
niously  blend.  All  others  are  but  truces  and  com 
promises  negotiated  between  relative  evil  and  good. 

These  truths  were  Eleusinian  mysteries   to  me 
when  I  left  home  to  rejoin  Constantia.     Some  na 
tures    require   rough   teachings.      Wars,   fightings, 
20 


230  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

drunkenness,  disease,  and  death,  are  their  parables. 
Others  find  angels  or  demons,  as  their  wills 
accredit  them,  in  the  pangs  of  the  heart.  My  dis 
cipline  began  through  troubles  and  disappointments, 
both  of  head  and  heart.  Can  love  and  wisdom  ever 
be  reconciled? 

Who  shall  paint  the  anguish  of  soul  at  faith's  first 
falsehood  —  when  hopes,  plans,  and  feelings,  trust, 
beauty,  and  goodness,  lie  about  you  a  confused  and 
battered  wreck?  Out-doors,  there  is  no  warmth  in 
the  sun  then  ;  the  landscape  is  sere  and  yellow  ;  the 
sky  weighs  like  lead  upon  your  head  ;  every  living 
object  looks  at  you  askant ;  the  very  worm  turns 
from  you,  as  a  poor,  pitiable  outcast,  with  whom  nei 
ther  brute  nor  stone  can  sympathize.  They  all  find 
some  joy  in  nature  ;  but  to  you  it  is  a  big  —  big  lie. 

In-doors,  your  calamity  spreads  a  pall  over  book 
and  picture.  Night  becomes  day.  Willingly  would 
you  exchange  the  bed  for  a  coffin.  Even  the 
hearthstone  is  sad  and  cold.  Thrust  your  hand  into 
the  fire,  and  it  will  not  burn ;  water  will  not  drown; 
the  destruction  you  court  flies  from  you  as  from  a 
thing  abhorred ;  colds,  fevers,  and  famine,  alike 
spare  you ;  the  food  you  loathe  mysteriously  nour 
ishes  your  hated  body;  while  the  soul,  recoiling 
upon  itself,  fiercely  resents  words  of  hope  or  conso 
lation,  and  clings  to  despair  as  its  only  garment. 

Death,  the  inevitable,  we  bow  to.  It  may  be,  we 
fondly  hope,  the  call  of  an  angel  to  one  or  both  of 
the  parted.  God's  providence  it  surely  is.  But 
infidelity,  treachery,  change,  in  the  being  we  love 
and  trust,  is,  as  we  first  view  it,  treason  to  virtue. 


LOVE   FLIES   OFF.  231 

Our  moral  nature  is  tortured.  Hence  our  resist 
ance,  curses,  and  despair.  But  may  not  the  disrup 
tions  of  love  and  friendship  be,  like  the  changes  in 
the  natural  world,  the  result  of  an  infallible  law, 
which  joins  or  divorces,  to  the  intent  of  benefit  at 
large,  present  or  prospective  ?  When  the  same  truth 
ceases  to  unite  individuals,  they  must  fly  asunder  like 
positive  and  negative  electricity.  If  we  leave  our 
friends,  may  it  not  be  because  we  cleave  the  more 
firmly  to  friendship  ?  Truth  is  dual.  It  unites  and 
disunites.  The  separation  we  grieve  over  may  be  a 
disguised  blessing ;  one  of  God's  messengers  to  tell 
us,  "  On,  on  !  a  new  epoch  awaits  you." 

Character  influences  character,  as  wind  water. 
A  breeze  always  in  one  direction  disturbs  its  level. 
By  counter  gales  its  surface  is  kept  in  wholesome, 
varied  agitation.  So  with  individualism.  Our  feel 
ings  and  ideas  get  piled  up  too  much  in  one  direction, 
by  contact  solely  with  one  set  of  mental  and  affec- 
tional  influences.  We  come  to  halt;  squint,  and 
blink,  as  do  our  neighbors.  It  is  necessary,  therefore, 
at  times,  to  give  our  loves  and  friendships  an  airing. 
We  must  each  cling  to  our  life-motives.  The  world 
is  constantly  changing  its  aspect  alike  to  infant  and 
man,  and  is  true  or  false  to  both  in  the  proportion 
of  their  respective  faculties,  and  the  directions  of 
their  wills.  Persons  must  part,  therefore,  however 
painful  the  rent  in  affections,  as  the  truth  or  desire 
of  each  calls  them  asunder.  Interests,  passions, 
thoughts,  and  wishes,  are  like  the  arms  of  the  cuttle 
fish,  that  extend  in  every  direction,  ever  swaying 
about  in  search  of  food.  The  instant  they  touch 


232  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

the  object  they  close  upon  it,  and  it  never  quits  their 
grasp  until  it  has  fulfilled  its  function.  Each  man, 
woman,  and  child,  with  like  intuitive  selfishness, 
seeks  its  own :  but  its  own  is  digestible  or  indigesti 
ble  by  it  only  in  proportion  as  it  is  capable  of  being 
assimilated  by  reason.  Why  fret  ourselves  because 
the  form  which  clothed  our  idea  of  love  or  friend 
ship,  one  year,  has  changed  its  look  to  us,  the  next? 
Love  and  friendship  are  still  imperishable.  We 
must  seek — or,  better,  wait — until  we  can  attract  our 
present  necessity  to  ourselves  in  some  other  form. 
More  wise,  more  glorious,  more  lasting,  shall  it  be 
than  the  last,  because  we  have  outgrown  our  past 
selves,  and  demand  more  of  the  divine  spirit. 
This  will  remain  wedded  to  us  no  longer  than  wants 
and  natures  harmonize. 

"Treason,  treason!"  I  hear  from  all  sides. 
"What !  will  you  canonize  inconsistency?" 

Yes,  I  reply,  if  in  doing  so  I  convince  you 
that  truth,  whether  of  mind  or  heart,  is  dearer  for  its 
own  sake  than  for  the  individual.  I  would  be  con 
stant  only  to  its  search,  accepting  it  as  it  may 
choose  to  manifest  itself  to  me.  I  am  not  its  cre 
ator,  but  its  object. 

We  talk  truly  of  the  miseries  of  unrequited  love. 
Miserable,  wretched,  tortured,  woful,  is  that  being 
who  contests  Nature's  fiat.  There  is  no  despair 
equal  to  that  of  being  will-bound  to  one  who  cannot 
love  in  return.  Petitions  to  God  or  devotion  to 
woman  are  as  hopeless  to  create  the  magnetic  flow 
of  feeling  we  baptize  love,  where  once  it  has  been 
tried  and  found  wanting,  though  for  a  while  it  burnt 


LOVE   FLIES   OFF.  233 

like  tinder,  as  is  the  polar  sun  to  bring  forth  palms 
and  honey  from  the  everlasting  snows  of  the  north. 
We  ache  and  writhe  more  from  the  heart-want 
of  love  and  friendship  themselves  than  from  the 
loss  of  their  mediums,  and  we  hail  as  joyfully 
the  forms  that  restore  their  balm  to  our  souls  as 
does  the  untutored  Indian  his  sun's  escape  from  an 
eclipse.  Perpetuity  of  the  passion,  through  substi 
tution  of  the  medium,  is  the  true  panacea  of  a 
wounded  spirit.  I  speak  wisely  on  this  point,  for 
I  have  suffered  as  much  as  man  can  suffer  and  live, 
from  the  collapse  of  my  love-balloon.  Clinging 
frantically  to  its  rent  gauze,  I  fell  to  earth  a  maimed, 
bruised,  pitiable  mass,  and  there  for  years  lay 
grovelling,  helpless  and  forsaken,  instinctively 
clutching  at  the  parted  ropes,  alternating  between 
fierce  imprecations  and  convulsive  prayers,  in  min 
gled  despair  and  hope  that  the  balloon  would  again 
fill  with  gas,  and  take  me  once  more  upward  into 
celestial  ether.  I  might  have  lain  there  until  this 
time,  had  not  reason  and  experience  taught  me  what 
I  have  written. 

The  purer  the  love,  the  sooner  it  seeks  to  free 
itself  from  every  admixture  which  bends  its  face 
earthward.  What  all  covet  is  most  counterfeited. 

Be  brave,  then,  and  strip  the  false  mask  from  your 
own  face.  Thus  may  you  detect  the  lie  in  your 
neighbor's. 

True  love  aspires  to  the  eternal;  therefore  nothing 
fleshly  can  forever  hold  it.  While  of  time,  it  par 
takes  of  the  imperfections  of  protean  matter.  The 
loftiest  love  is  self-sustained  j  quietly  bides  its  destiny, 
20* 


234  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

sure  in  its  final  marriage.  Where  and  when  its  mar 
riage,  it  submits  to  its  Author,  with  its  lamp  con 
stantly  burning,  refusing  to  sell  its  future  for  present, 
short-lived  profit. 

The  loss,  therefore,  of  a  present  object,  however 
brought  about,  will  be  a  gain,  if  we  meekly  and 
thoughtfully  accept  Nature's  lesson.  Depend  upon 
it,  no  change  occurs  without  a  legitimate,  sufficient 
cause.  Jacob  and  Esau  cannot  dwell  together  under 
the  same  tent.  The  world  is,  however,  wide  enough 
for  both. 

I  should  have  begun  this  chapter  with  its  ap 
propriate  fact.  It  comes  in  as  well,  however,  at 
its  funeral.  As  I  was  walking  from  the  railroad 
station  towards  Constantia's  house,  I  saw  a  notice 
on  the  church  door,  and  stopped  to  read  it.  It  was 
the  banns  of  marriage  between  Constantia  Russell 
and  Jonathan  Plaster ! 

The  same  night  found  me  under  my  father's  roof. 
Not  a  word  had  escaped  my  lips.  I  flung  myself  on 
my  knees  in  my  mother's  room,  and  looked  upward 
to  God.  Words  of  prayer  came  slow  and  stifling; 
yet  I  prayed  —  prayed  for  anything  that  might 
loosen  the  dull  agony  that  crushed  my  spirit.  When 
I  arose  I  staggered  into  my  own  room,  and  there 
saw  a  pair  of  pet  doves  which  I  had  brought  from 
the  Pacific,  intending  them  as  a  gift  to  Constantia 
on  our  wedding  day.  I  wrung  their  necks,  and 
dashed  their  palpitating  bodies  into  the  street. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

MORE   WEAKNESSES  ;   MORE   MORALIZING. 

To  count  time  only  by  sunrises  and  sunsets  is  a 
vulgar  error.  Where  daily  wages  and  yearly  divi 
dends  are  concerned,  it  is  a  very  convenient  system ; 
but  it  is  no  more  the  measure  of  our  real  age  than  are 
the  gray  hairs  which  so  often  maliciously  coquette 
with  our  youth.  Our  real  growth  is  an  affair  of 
emotions  and  wisdom.  As  we  are  lifted  up  from 
a  narrow  to  a  wider  vision,  or  as  we  slip  backwards 
to  a  more  contracted  view,  so  advance  or  recede 
our  real  years.  We  may  crowd  eternity  into  a 
second,  or  make  of  a  second  an  "eternal  stagnation. 
The  only  eternity  we  can  positively  know  is  the 
present ;  for,  if  immortal,  we  are  now  as  much 
within  it  as  we  ever  shall  be.  Future  is  relative ; 
Being  only  is  actual.  As  present  thoughts  and 
actions  shape  the  future  to  us,  our  Now  becomes 
the  paramount  consideration. 

If  this  be  correct,  and  emotions  and  experience 
be  the  actual  facts  of  life,  our  dinners  and  cash- 
books,  our  locomotives  and  dress-coats,  are  but  the 
lungs  by  aid  of  which  we  inhale  the  real  elements 
of  our  existence.  Through  externals,  the  internal 


236  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

is  either  undermined  or  strengthened.  It  matters 
little  what  form  or  number  of  days  the  outside  life 
assumes,  provided  the  interior  walks  forward  at  its 
natural  pace.  But  who  can  control  his  feelings  ? 
Who,  when  smitten  with  sorrow,  can  at  once  rise 
up  and  say,  "  Lord,  I  thank  thee  ;  even  so  is  it  good 
for  me." 

Brave  thoughts  do  not  always  father  brave 
actions.  From  their  knees  many  get  up  to  smite 
and  curse ;  many  cling  to  grief  as  to  a  consolation ; 
some  rave,  revel,  and  blaspheme,  while  others  walk 
thenceforth  with  eyes  shut,  seeing  neither  beauty, 
hope,  nor  charity,  in  life  ;  —  they  do  not  war  against 
it,  they  do  not  even  argue  with  it ;  they  accept  it, 
not  as  sacrifice  or  expiation,  but  as  moody  fate  j 
past,  present,  and  future,  a  void,  yet  an  ache. 

Such  was  my  condition  for  three  years  after  the 
shock  of  -  —  's  infidelity.  During  that  time  I 
never  once  repeated  her  name,  and  I  will  not  just  now. 
It  was  strange  that  I  scarcely  thought  of  Jonathan 
in  connection  with  her.  The  one  great  fact  that 
my  trust  had  been  crushed  like  a  frail  egg-shell 
weighed  down  all  personal  considerations,  and  the 
reaction  of  my  mind  was  like  the  sudden  turning 
off  of  gas  from  a  brilliant  saloon,  where  all  was 
pleasure  and  loveliness,  and  leaving  it  in  utter  con 
fusion  and  darkness. 

Some  dispositions  recoil  at  once,  and  go  out  again 
to  the  world  as  gay  and  hopeful  as  ever ;  but  such 
have  no  depth  of  foundation.  Others,  frail  and  deli 
cate,  pass  away  like  soap-bubbles.  Mine  was  tena 
cious,  clinging  blankly  to  its  wreck,  as  if  that  were 


MORE   WEAKNESSES  J   MORE   MORALIZING.          237 

the  all  left  of  providence.  The  sole  cry  I  at  last 
daily  uttered  was,  "  The  sacrifice  of  God  is  a 
troubled  spirit ;  a  broken  and  contrite  heart,  0  God, 
thou  shaltnot  despise;'7  exaggerating  my  evil  into  a 
personal  sin,  and  thus  compelling  nature  finally  to 
operate  her  cure,  through  a  long  and  painful  pro 
cess.  Thanks,  skilful,  considerate  physician  !  —  thy 
healing,  once  completed,  lifted  me  into  a  new  exist 
ence.  Thou  art  now  welcome  to  thy  fee. 

Did  mortals  hold  less  to  their  finite  desires,  and 
trust  in  thy  love  more,  they  would  find  that  there  is 
a  power  in  thee  to  shape  their  destinies  to  happier 
and  more  heroic  ends  than  short-sighted  intellects 
conceive. 

The  precise  when  and  how  by  which  we  pass 
from  one  heart-existence  into  a  fuller  or  wiser  one 
we  can  no  more  recall  than  we  can  the  hour  of  our 
earth-birth.  Sufficient  is  it  that  we  are  born  again. 
Much  tossing,  and  cooing,  and  blessing ;  much  cry 
ing,  sleeping,  and  wetting,  make  up  an 'infant's  span. 
It  knows,  but  remembers  not  its  progress.  So  with 
our  thought-life.  It  is  only  in  looking  down  upon 
the  battle-field  that  we  can  clearly  discern  the  ma 
noeuvres  that  lead  to  victory.  We  must  place  our 
selves  at  a  given  point,  not  too  near  nor  too  remote 
from  the  causes  that  make  character,  to  justly  esti 
mate  them  ;  otherwise  the  smoke  of  passions,  inter 
ests,  or  prejudices,  blinds  our  judgment. 

It  is  well,  therefore,  at  every  great  epoch  in  life, 
to  pause  and  inquire,  "  What  has  brought  me  here  ? 
whither  do  I  tend  ?  "  The  memory  that  stores  up 
only  feastings  and  revellings  is  a  mere  parasite  of 


238  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

sense,  and  the  vilest  sycophant  and  most  treacher 
ous  servant  one  can  have.  Its  true  duty  is  to  take 
note  of  what  goes  to  nourish  the  mental  Us. 

If  constancy  consist  in  being  faithful  to  the  pur 
suit  of  truth  and  beauty,  consistency  no  less  consists 
in  confessing  them  in  whatever  shape  they  may 
appear,  whether  the  experience  of  to-day  contradicts 
that  of  yesterday,  or  not.  Those  words  are  made 
the  great  bugbears  of  progress.  Timid  souls,  who 
fear  to  step  out  of  the  track  their  ancestors  made,  not 
for  them,  but  for  themselves,  are  ever  prostrating 
their  souls  before  these  Baals.  Rise  !  Be  not  afraid 
to  declare  your  own  truths  ;  speak  plainly  ;  let  not 
the  past  trifle  nor  the  present  deceive  you.  Noah's 
ark  answered  to  float  lazily  and  safely  on  the  old 
flood,  but  we  need  steam  and  electricity  to  keep  us 
up  with  our  age.  -  The  virtue  of  American  life  is  its 
sincerity;  it  tries  all  things,  slowly  sloughing  the 
dead  past,  earnest  and  open  alike  in  evil  or  good. 

The  antidote  to  error  is  confession ;  the  road  to 
progress  is  trial  j  individually  and  nationally  we 
must  not  shrink  from  unexplored  nature,  but  boldly 
trust  to  the  divinity  that  invites  us  on,  to  illumine 
our  path.  We  cannot  go  far  wrong,  when  dealing 
sincerely  with  truth,  without  being  shown  the  right. 
Sin  delights  to  dazzle  and  confuse,  but  virtue  de 
velops  peace  and  repose. 

Our  minds  are  an  armory  of  passions,  sentiments, 
and  ambitions ;  weapons  of  every  name  and  nature, 
as  capable  of  being  turned  against  each  other  as 
upon  a  common  foe.  The  miseries  that  beset  us 
arise  chiefly  from  ignorance  of  their  proper  uses. 


MORE   WEAKNESSES  ;    MORE   MORALIZING.          239 

We  can  acquire  the  needful  knowledge  only  through 
practice.  If,  therefore,  a  gun  recoils,  or  a  cartridge 
bursts,  find  why,  and  try  again. 

Human  nature  is  a  see-saw.  We  are  constantly 
tilting  up  to  tilt  down  again  j  the  common  science  of 
life  seems  rather  to  be  to  find  out  how  to  balance  our 
selves,  instead  of  seeking  our  true  balance.  This  is 
more  difficult  than  a  North-West  passage ;  yet  there 
is  a  magnetic  pole  somewhere,  which,  when  found, 
must  put  us  in  harmony  with  ourselves  and  others. 
In  the  mean  while  we  go  hither  and  thither,  now  ice 
bound,  now  current-drifted ;  a  fair  wind,  then  a  foul ; 
backward  and  forward,  amid  fogs,  snow,  and  chance 
rays  of  sunshine,  tempted  on  by  the  hope  of  clear  water 
somewhere,  and  never  giving  up  our  search,  though 
often  enclosed  in  impenetrable  night.  Some  come 
out,  hull  shattered,  whence  they  started  ;  others  float 
into  the  unknown  gulf;  and  all  —  sail  on. 

The  great  yearning  of  old  and  young,  in  affections 
and  intellect,  is  to  be  appreciated.  We  are  sure  that 
there  is  a  friend  or  lover  for  us  somewhere  ;  a  com 
panion  for  every  thought  or  wish,  by  which  the 
great  solitude  of  the  heart  shall  be  exorcised.  Yet 
society  at  large  is  but  a  despairing  confession  of 
failure.  Amid  its  noise  and  glitter  we  try  to  cheat 
ourselves  of  our  need.  But  the  wail  of  loneliness 
will  make  itself  heard ;  and  in  our  silent  hours  we 
call  it  all  vanity  and  vexation,  but  go  back  to  it  on 
the  morrow  again,  to  whirl  and  prate,  a  disguise  to 
our  neighbors  and  a  mockery  to  ourselves.  Alas ! 
could  plate-glass  let  daylight,  or  even  gas-light, 
through  upon  the  pride,  selfishness,  and  folly,  the 


240  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

deceit  and  passions,  the  ignorance  and  arrogance, 
that  coil  in  hearts  whose  outsides  are  so  fair  and 
courteous,  their  affrighted  possessors  would  flee 
from  each  other,  as  if  possessed  of  devils.  But  look 
deeper.  Down  below  all,  but  struggling  to  be  seen, 
is  the  inextinguishable  thirst  of  real  companionship. 

In  a  mock  embrace,  rather  than  none  at  all, 
society  goes  on ;  but  each  member  feels  a  gnawing 
for  something  beyond  the  transient  and  fantastic  — 
some  gift,  some  friend,  that  shall  unlock  the  tender 
and  true  within  himself  or  herself,  and  hold  it  up 
to  the  light,  so  that  its  possessor  shall  become  con 
scious  of  hidden  fire.  Have  you  never  felt  the 
magnetic  influence  of  a  look,  a  word,  an  emotion, 
spontaneous  and  unexpected,  that  gave  a  new  in 
sight  into  your  own  being?  Such  there  are  constantly 
going  to  and  fro  through  the  world  —  God's  angels  to 
hungry  souls,  that  sit  at  our  table  for  a  day,  and 
then  are  gone,  but  not  before  they  have  left  their 
messages  behind  them. 

Thrice  blessed  are  they  when  they  come  in  hu 
man  form  !  It  is  sufficient,  my  reader,  that  you  and 
I  have  entertained  such.  We  need  not  know  what 
was  said  and  done,  for  our  sympathies  to  flow  tow 
ards  each  other.  Ask  your  own  heart  how  I  out 
grew  my  great  sorrow  ;  and  yet  by  and  by  I  may  tell 
you  a  little,  if  it  please  you  to  listen. 

Blessed,  too,  is  the  messenger,  though  it  be  but  a 
book  !  I  am  laughed  at  for  my  respect  and  tender 
ness  for  those  silent  talkers.  Joke  on  !  The  dead, 
to  me,  are  visitors  of  state,  or  dear  friends.  As  I 
would  have  honored  and  welcomed  them  in  human 


MORE  WEAKNESSES  ;   MOBE  MORALIZING.         241 

forms,  so  will  I  now,  though  bound  in  calf,  or  but 
paper-stitched.  Indeed,  as  flesh  and  blood,  they 
might  have  looked  coldly  or  proudly  on  me  5  but  as 
printed  thought  I  may  compel  them  to  be  my  con 
stant  companions. 

When  feelings  and  ideas  suddenly  reawaken,  you 
have  doubtless  discovered,  dear  reader,  that  they 
are  imperious  in  their  exactions  in  the  degree  of 
their  former  lethargy.  Mine  were  so.  I  tumbled 
into  and  out  of  friendships  as  carelessly  and  rapidly, 
for  a  while,  as  a  sailor  earns  and  spends  money. 
This  experimenting  in  human  nature  is  not  without 
its  charms  as  well  as  dangers.  Some  characters  — 
few,  however  —  disarm  doubt  and  suspicion  at  sight. 
Like  little  children  they  lead  you  captive,  and  draw 
out  your  purest,  freshest  impulses,  causing  you  to 
rejoice  in  an  innocence  and  joyousness  that  scent 
life  with  its  sweetest  fragrance.  Others,  with  more 
intellectual  power,  carry  you  away  by  sheer  force 
of  will.  For  a  while  you  see  with  their  eyes,  and 
hear  with  their  ears.  They  overwhelm  like  a  freshet, 
so  impetuous  is  their  motion,  scattering  their  men 
tal  debris  over  your  mind,  mingling  fertility  with 
destruction.  If  you  have  sufficient  power  of  re 
sistance  and  perception  to  bear  up  against  such 
individuals,  they  are  not  without  their  service  to 
character;  but,  as  in  general  their  selfishness  cor 
responds  to  their  strength,  they  will  use  and  discard 
the  weak,  and  undermine  the  strong,  if  not  checked 
by  a  moral  nature  firmer  and  superior  to  their  own. 

My  chief  weakness,  as  was  seen  by  my  first  com 
mercial   operations,  is  to  idealize   my  enterprises. 
21 


242  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

Nature  made  me  an  optimist.  Of  the  two  extremes 
of  foibles,  this  is  better  than  being  a  pessimist.  Is 
it  not  healthier  to  the  moral  sense  to  confide  and 
hope  in  the  possibilities  of  good,  than  ever  to  be 
lieve  and  forefend  evil  ?  Either  way  we  meet  with 
bruises,  it  is  true  ;  but  the  one  gives  us  wings 
wherewith  we  shall  eventually  learn  to  fly,  while 
the  other  fetters  our  limbs  constantly  to  the  ground. 
A  slight  sketch  of  some  of  my  failures  may  not  be 
without  interest  to  you.  Among  my  commercial 
friends  was  one  whose  talent  for  business  was 
remarkable.  He  was  a  handsome,  noble-looking 
fellow,  and  intellectual,  but  with  his  animal  func 
tions  on  so  active  a  scale  as  to  incline  him  to  rate 
their  pleasures  at  above  their  proper  estimate. 
However,  in  his  commercial  relations  he  had  always 
been  successful,  and  inspired  confidence.  My  disin 
clination  to  act  for  myself  made  me  more  ready  to 
trust  in  others.  He  proposed  to  act  with  and  for  me. 
I  accepted  his  proposition,  and,  believing  the  true 
basis  of  any  copartnership  to  be  mutual  confidence, 
I  gave  him  mine  most  implicitly,  rating  him  at  my 
own  standard  of  what  human  intercourse  should  be, 
rather  than  at  what  it  really  is.  The  result  was, 
that,  being  deprived  of  the  resistance  of  caution  and 
oversight  which  his  nature  in  reality  required,  he 
speedily  lost  his  commercial  balance,  and  cost  me 
the  little  fortune  I  had  made  at  Lilibolu  before  I 
could  disconnect  myself  from  him.  Verily  it  is  as 
troublesome  to  keep  money  as  to  earn  it !  But  I 
could  not  blame  him  as  much  as  if  I  had  not  be 
trayed  myself;  so  I  set  down  the  disappearance  of 


MORE  WEAKNESSES;  MORE  MORALIZING.       243 

my  money  to  the  debit  of  Profit  and  Loss,  but  to 
the  credit  of  Character,  and  resolved  thenceforth  to 
be  content  with  little  means,  and  leave  money-getting 
to  those  whose  proper  pursuit  it  was. 

I  had  an  artist  friend,  whose  genius  and  impulsive 
nature,  in  all  that  related  to  his  profession,  for  a 
while  completely  won  me.  He  seemed  a  miracle 
of  earnestness  and  sincerity  ;  gifted  by  nature  he 
certainly  was  with  a  fine  feeling  for  the  beautiful, 
though  in  point  of  education  as  ignorant  as  a 
peasant.  We  are  all  carried  away  by  real  enthu 
siasm.  His  was  fanatical  in  degree,  but,  unfortu 
nately,  comparatively  unenlightened.  I  thought  that 
he  needed  only  to  study  to  become  "  a  master."  Con 
sequently  I  devoted  myself  to  his  benefit  with  all  the 
zeal  of  a  friendship  thoroughly  disinterested.  This 
I  assert,  however  egotistical  it  may  appear,  because 
I  am  bound  to  be  as  true  to  myself  as  to  others. 
Besides,  I  had  nothing  to  receive  from  him  beyond 
the  exchange  of  ideas,  in  which  I  trust  we  were 
mutually  benefited.  His  intolerance  towards  his 
brother-artists  kept  him  always  in  hot  water,  and  his 
friends  constantly  fighting  his  battles  ;  but  one  does 
not  mind  that,  provided  the  cause  seems  a  good  one  ; 
and  his  aspirations  were  to  the  elevation  of  art.  My 
standard  with  him  was  based  on  what  I  believe  to 
be  the  only  sound  basis  of  friendship  ;  that  is,  a  one 
ness  of  mind  and  feelings  in  all  that  connects  two 
human  beings  ;  consequently,  my  purse,  speech, 
and  whatever  I  possessed,  were  ever  at  his  ser 
vice.  I  loved  him  as  I  had  never  before  loved  a 
man  ;  wilfully  blinding  myself  to  his  faults,  and  ex- 


244  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

alting  his  virtues.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the 
spirit  we  display  towards  a  friend,  in  the  degree  of 
his  capacity  to  appreciate  it,  invites,  at  all  events, 
momentarily,  a  similar  feeling  in  return.  With  me, 
he  was  almost  always  in  his  best  mood.  There  were 
a  mingled  force  and  sweetness  in  his  eloquence,  misty, 
ungrammatical,  and  illogical,  as  it  was,  that  captivated 
even  cultivated  and  strong  minds  ;  while  the  sublimity 
of  his  self-confidence,  and  the  fierceness  of  his  denun 
ciations  when  his  temper  was  aroused,  over-awed  the 
timid,  and  provoked  both  sympathy  and  laughter  in 
older  heads.  Few  liked  him;  but  he  might  have 
been  universally  respected,  had  it  not  been  for  his 
impatience  to  become  celebrated,  which  he  imagined 
he  could  through  conceit,  and  by  exaggerating  his 
feeling  for  art,  —  unfortunately  always  excessive, — 
rather  than  by  critical  study,  which  he  most  needed. 
This  led  him  to  arrogate  to  himself  a  position  not 
yet  earned ;  and,  finding  his  violence  could  not  con 
trol  public  sentiment,  in  an  evil  hour,  instead  of 
listening  to  the  suggestions  of  humility,  and  patiently 
trying  to  rise  simply  through  his  artistic  qualities, 
he  took  to  intrigue. 

To  follow  him  through  the  tortuous  course  by 
which  he  obtained  momentary  triumphs,  —  alienating 
friends,  undermining  reputations  to  exalt  his  own, 
repaying  trust  with  treachery,  and,  when  detected, 
basely  seeking  to  avenge  himself  by  woundinghis  best 
friends,  through  the  confidence  they  had  from  time  to 
time  reposed  in  him, — would  of  itself  make  a  romance 
of  no  ordinary  character.  Suffice  it  to  say,  the  lesson 
that  he  gave  has  lastingly  cured  me  of  endeavoring 


MORE  WEAKNESSES  ;   MORE  MORALIZING.         245 

to  make  another  better  than  he  or  she  makes  himself 
or  herself  to  be.  The  most  powerful  monitors  are  our 
spontaneous,  independent  actions.  We  are  all  the 
best  judges  of  our  true  selves.  Fortunately,  no  one 
can  take  away  the  satisfaction  of  a  good  action  or 
a  disinterested  motive.  By  such  we  are  ennobled,  as 
the  reverse  degrades ;  and  the  former  is  the  only 
satisfaction  we  should  look  for.  Any  selfish,  low 
motive,  in  our  conduct  to  another,  carries  with  it  a 
moral  virus  to  ourselves.  If,  therefore,  we  can 
satisfy  conscience  that  nothing  blameworthy  has 
entered  into  our  own  desires  or  deportment,  the 
judgment  of  the  uninformed  or  mistaken,  the  malice 
of  the  treacherous,  or  the  inappreciation  of  the  infe 
rior-minded,  become  of  comparative  inconsequence. 
We  live  in  our  own  world. 

Yet  there  must  be  circumspection  in  the  choice 
of  friends.  Impulses  and  affinities  are  too  sanguine 
and  partial  to  be  blindly  followed.  They  often,  it 
is  true,  operate  as  instincts  to  bring  u*s  good  or  take 
us  from  evil ;  but  that  arrives  only  either  in  the 
clairvoyant  innocence  of  infancy,  or  when  our  moral 
faculties  have  been  sufficiently  trained  to  discrim 
inate  at  sight.  The  intermediate  state  is  one  of 
adventure,  in  which  our  tastes  and  inclinations  take 
risks  in  proportion  to  their  vehemence,  turning  up 
prizes  or  blanks,  as  chance  rather  than  judgment 
dictates. 

A  certain  degree  of  selfishness  is  a  virtue.     Not 

so  much  in  relation  to  ourselves,  as  in  fencing  in  the 

passions  and  foibles   of  others.     If  we  expose  our 

infant  virtues  to  be  preyed  upon,  big  wolves  with 

21* 


246  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

great  staring  eyes  will  eat  them  up.  It  is  sinful  to 
tempt  the  weakness  of  another  by  weakly  yielding  to 
aggression,  for  thereby  an  advantage  is  given  to  base 
ness.  As  soon,  therefore,  as  confidence  and  gener 
osity  provoke  only  selfishness  and  meanness,  change 
your  deportment  so  as  to  defeat  vice,  but  keep  your 
heart  filled  with  kindness  for  your  own  sake.  The 
worse  your  enemy,  the  more  he  needs  your  help  to 
set  him  right.  As  there  are  some  natures  that  can 
like  lambs  be  led  by  faith  and  gentleness,  so  there 
are  others  whose  first  lessons  must  of  necessity  be 
force  and  firmness.  In  dealing  with  individuals, 
avoid  as  much  as  possible  the  idea  of  gratitude  in 
any  sense.  It  is  meaji  to  expect  it,  and  irritating 
to  be  under  its  bondage.  To  vulgar  souls  it  is  like 
an  itch ;  to  strong  natures,  as  bonds  which  sooner  or 
later  must  be  wrenched  off.  True  love  alone  is  per 
fect  freedom. 

The  same  motives  which  should  operate  not  to 
discourage  kindly  efforts  towards  individuals  should 
obtain  in  our  relations  to  society.  Expect  nothing 
more  in  the  aggregate  than  in  the  singular.  Good 
seed  is  sure  to  germinate  as  soon  as  the  soil  is 
ready.  In  our  haste,  we  often  plant  before  knowing 
its  quality  and  needs,  so  that  the  misunderstanding 
is  mutual.  Much  of  our  philanthropy  is,  in  conse 
quence,  seed  on  unploughed  ground. 

We  build  great  washing-houses,  and  expect  the 
poor  to  become  very  grateful  and  clean ;  forgetting 
that  even  dirt  has  a  mission,  which  is  to  keep 
poverty  warm  until  it  can  afford  the  luxury  of  clean 
liness.  What  wonder  that  an  increased  susceptibil- 


MORE  WEAKNESSES;  MORE  MORALIZING.       247 

ity  of  skin  makes  the  destitute  shrink  from  our  refor 
mations  until  their  homes  and  clothing  can  be  equal 
ized  to  our  requirements  ?  To  permanently  elevate 
any  one,  we  must  raise  him  in  all  points.  Only  in  the 
degree  that  we  do  that  to  ourselves  and  others,  do 
we  lay  the  social  foundations  sure  and  strong. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

BUT  NOT   MY   WEDDING. 

FOR  a  long  while  I  bad  seen  but  little  of  my 
father.  He  never  wrote  to  me,  nor  I  to  him,  except 
circumstances  positively  required  it.  We  knew 
nothing  of  each  other's  pursuits,  simply  because 
there  was  no  affinity  between  them ;  yet  when  we 
met,  a  latent  kindness  and  courtesy  developed 
themselves,  which  earlier  might  have  led  to  more 
intimacy.  I  had  a  great  respect  for  his  practical 
talents,  and  he  had  at  last  forgiven  me  my  tastes,  on 
the  ground  of  my  general  incompetency  for  any 
thing  else,  and  that  there  was  really  nothing  in 
them  absolutely  objectionable.  He  sometimes  in 
quired  about  my  studies,  and  I  casually  learned  that 
he  had  purchased,  from  time  to  time,  copies  of  such 
works  as  had  appeared  in  my  name,  and  given  them 
to  his  friends  with  a  certain  degree  of  pride,  how 
ever  little  they  merited  it,  saying,  with  a  sort  of 
indifferent  emphasis,  they  were  from  "  the  pen  of  his 
son."  A  feeling  and  compliment  of  this  nature,  so 
unexpected,  determined  me  to  go  and  thank  him.  I 
had  been  residing  in  a  foreign  country  for  iny 


BUT  NOT  MY  WEDDING.      249 

health  for  two  years,  and  during  that  time  had  not 
received  a  line  from  him. 

Two  months  after  this  resolution  was  taken,  I 
again  pulled  the  old  familiar  door-bell.  Again  a 
servant  who  knew  me  not  came  to  the  door.  He 
was  dressed  in  a  neat  livery,  which  surprised  me, 
knowing  my  father's  democratic  ideas.  I  entered 
and  gave  my  name,  and  was  ushered  into  the  drawing- 
room.  Everything  was  changed.  The  comfortable 
and  yet  tasteful  furniture,  with  a  few  choice  English 
engravings  and  works  of  art,  of  my  mother's  time, 
had  all  disappeared ;  and,  instead  of  the  air  of  repose 
and  extreme  neatness  which  formerly  reigned  there, 
I  found  a  sort  of  chaotic  splendor,  that  puzzled  and 
dismayed  me.  A  profusion  of  ill-assorted  paintings, 
old  and  modern  copies  and  originals,  looking  as  if 
furnished  by  contract,  with  special  reference  to 
costly  frames,  covered  the  walls.  The  new  furniture, 
partly  Florentine  gilt  and  partly  French  marquetry, 
was  extremely  elegant,  but  inappropriate  to  the 
rooms.  Showy  porcelain,  modern  bronzes,  and 
richly-bound  books,  were  carelessly  placed  here  and 
there.  Before,  however,  I  had  time  to  note  all  the 
changes,  my  father  entered,  shook  me  cordially  by 
the  hand,  saying,  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  You 
got  my  letter,  of  course,  informing  you  of  my 
marriage  ?  "  , 

"  Marriage  !"  I  repeated  mechanically,  half  doubt 
ing  my  ears. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  he,  not  noticing  my  surprise, 
"  I  will  introduce  you  to  your  new  mother."  Say 
ing  this,  he  led  the  way  to  the  well-known  little 


250  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

library,  where  the  alterations  were  greater,  if 
possible,  than  in  the  drawing-rooms,  and  presented 
me  to  his  bride. 

"  My  son  Katilan,  Mrs.  Bullion ;  he  has  come  to 
make  us  a  little  visit." 

It  was  well  that  my  life  had  been  one  of  many 
shocks  to  my  affections,  or  the  present  contrast  to 
the  cherished  associations  of  my  early  home  would 
have  overwhelmed  me.  As  it  was,  I  felt  heart-sick, 
but  contrived  to  stammer  out  a  few  commonplace 
compliments  to  my  unexpected  relative.  My  father 
did  not  notice  my  paleness  and  confusion,  but  his 
wife  did,  and,  with  a  woman's  instinct,  divining  the 
cause,  became  at  once  my  enemy.  She  tried,  how 
ever,  to  conceal  her  feeling,  and  embraced  me  with 
great  apparent  cordiality,  saying :  "  0  !  I  am  so  glad 
Lanie  has  come  !  —  that  is  his  name,  is  it  not,  Mr. 
Bullion?  —  a  sweet  one  it  is,  —  he  will  make  our 
circle  complete.  We  have  been  married  just  six 
weeks  to-day,  and  you  know  it  is  so  stupid  to  be 
always  with  one's  husband !  Don't  you  think  so, 
Robert?"  said  she,  tapping  his  cheek  playfully  with 
a  very  pretty  hand,  which  rny  father  seized,  and 
kissed  as  she  sought  to  withdraw  it,  exclaiming, 
"  Fy,  Mr.  Bullion,  before  our  little  Lanie  !  You  set 
him  a  bad  example.  Who  knows  but  he  will  be 
making  love  to  his  venerable  mother-in-law,  too  ?  " 
Then,  turning  to  me,  she  added:  "  You  must  tell  me 
all  about  the  strange  countries  you  have  seen.  I 
have  been  trying  to  coax  Mr.  Bullion  to  take  me  to 
Russia.  I  dote  on  the  Emperor ;  he  is  my  pet  man, 
always  excepting  my  lord  and  master,  there.  Don't 


BUT  NOT  MY  WEDDING.       251 

you  think  he  has  grown  younger  and  handsomer  ? 
I  'm  sure  you  do ;  but  he  is  a  real  tyrant,  just  like 
Nicholas  ;  —  upsets  all  my  fine  plans  by  talking  about 
hard  times  and  tight  money ;  but  I  believe  it  is  all 
sham ;  he  only  says  it  to  make  his  generosity  the 
greater.  Only  see  how  beautifully  he  has  refurnished 
the  house!  Those  horrid,  old-fashioned  things  are 
all  gone.  What  did  you  do  with  them,  lovey?" 
Here  my  father  winced  a  little,  and  I  felt  indignant ; 
but,  if,  reader,  you  have  ever  experienced  the 
power  of  a  young  and  fascinating  woman  over  a 
doting  man  verging  on  three-score,  you  will  do  as  I 
did  —  bite  your  tongue  to  compel  its  silence.  "This 
is  all  my  taste,"  continued  she ;  then,  suddenly 
changing  the  topic,  she  said,  "  Your  last  book,  on  - 
on  Beauty,  is  n't  it? — it  is  so  nice  !  See,  I  have  had  a 
copy  bound  in  such  a  lovely  color  !  You  shall  read 
it  to  me  !"  Thus  she  rattled  on,  keeping  time 
coquettishly,  the  while,  with  her  feet,  which  were 
half  buried  in  a  luxurious  cushion. 

Have  you  ever  seen  a  woman  who  for  a  while 
puzzled  you  to  know  whether  she  was  most  angel 
or  devil  ?  My  mother-in-law  was  at  first  such  a 
one  to  me,  alternating  so  rapidly  from  one  character 
to  the  other,  as  to  confuse  my  moral  perception,  and 
make  me  equally  doubt  my  own  judgment,  either 
way.  As  for  my  father,  he  was  completely  her 
captive. 

She  was  not  above  twenty-two,  and  looked  only 
nineteen.  There  was  a  singular  combination  of 
good  and  bad  points  in  her  figure.  A  skin  that 
could  be  either  soft,  clear,  and  brilliant,  or  rough, 


252  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

hazy,  and  dark,  with  an  eye  that  equally  varied,  yet 
was  large  and  expressive  ;  hands  and  feet  faultless ; 
teeth  moderately  good ;  mouth  like  a  rose-bud ; 
nose  beginning  well,  but  too  full  and  coarse  at  the 
nostrils ;  a  bust  of  great  delicacy  and  beauty ; 
shoulders  exquisitely  moulded,  but  too  long  a  back; 
arms  badly  filled  out,  and  a  squareness  of  hips  that 
did  not  correspond  with  the  elegance  of  her  general 
proportions ;  hair  of  extraordinary  fineness,  the 
color  being  rich  auburn,  yet  short  and  scanty,  —  all 
contributed  to  make  it  difficult  to  decide  whether 
she  was  beautiful  or  not.  At  all  events,  she  had 
narrowly  escaped  being  a  Venus ;  and,  by  the  aid 
of  her  tasteful  toilet,  she  was  so  successful  in  har 
monizing  her  good  points  and  concealing  the  defect 
ive,  that  few  ever  questioned  her  beauty. 

Her  mind  was  as  strange  in  the  aggregate  as  her 
body.  She  was  seemingly  impulsive,  affectionate, 
grateful,  and  intuitively  intelligent,  and  her  mode 
of  caressing  was  too  fascinating  and  natural  not  to 
be  irresistible ;  yet  at  the  bottom  of  every  action 
was  cool,  selfish  calculation,  disguised  with  an  art 
that  in  most  points  was  faultless,  but  not  unfre- 
quently  forgot  itself,  and  either  shot  at  random,  or 
experimented,  so  as  to  disclose  its  hands  to  a  cool 
observer.  Her  charm  was  that  of  a  serpent; 
powerful  towards  her  natural  prey,  but  powerless 
over  those  from  whom  she  had  nothing  to  get. 
She  was  dangerous  only  while  she  could  bewilder, 
because  there  was  too  much  of  the  refined  sensual 
in  her  temperament,  joined  to  many  excellent  feel 
ings  at  heart,  not  to  give  her  great  control  over 


MARRIED   AT  LAST,  BUT  NOT  MY  WEDDING.       253 

those  that  she  had  first  inspired  with  confidence.  Her 
greatest  vice  was  duplicity.  This  seemed  to  have 
been  instilled  into  her  by  education ;  for,  unless 
some  selfish  motive  intervened,  she  was  sincere  and 
kindly  intentioned.  Extravagance,  ambition,  and 
love  of  pleasure,  were  her  predominant  traits.  How 
and  where  my  father  met  her,  I  never  knew ;  but 
she  had  so  skilfully  played  upon  his  nature  as  to 
awaken  dormant  passions,  and  to  persuade  him  that 
under  her  auspices  his  house  would  become  gay 
and  companionable.  The  life  that  he  had  led  with 
my  mother  had  left  him  as  innocent  as  a  babe  of  the 
wiles  of  female  nature.  He  had  been  very  lonely 
at  home  j  so,  when  his  new  wife  amused  and 
caressed  him,  administered  to  his  wants,  and  petted 
his  peculiarities,  he  thought  that  he  had  found  a 
treasure  of  which  he  could  not  bo  too  choice.  She 
at  heart  looked  upon  him  simply  as  a  well-filled 
money-chest,  with  a  peculiar  secret  of  lock,  of  which 
she  had  discovered  the  spring. 

Social  attractions  like  Mrs.  Bullion's,  with  the 
unlimited  command  of  money  that  she  had  contrived 
to  wheedle  out  of  my  father,  filled  his  house  with  an 
endless  round  of  gay  and  frivolous  society,  in  which, 
it  must  be  confessed,  he  figured  badly,  and  which  he 
was  but  half  pleased  to  meet.  Still,  the  eclat  of  a 
brilliant  and  fashionable  wife,  eclipsing  all  his  old 
commercial  rivals  by  his  costly  entertainments  and 
the  superior  style  of  his  equipages,  was  so  novel  a 
sensation  that  for  a  while  he  imagined  that  it  gave 
him  pleasure. 

At  times  he  would  essay  to  impose  some  check 
22 


254  HEART  EXPERIENCE. 

upon  her  extravagance  ;  but  he  might  as  well  have 
tried  to  ballast  soap-bubbles  with  lead.  "  My  dear 
Mrs.  Bullion,"  he  began,  one  morning,  after  an  un 
usually  brilliant  and  costly  ball,  "  don't  you  think 
eleven  hundred  dollars  rather  extravagant  for 
flowers  alone?"  "0,  Bobby,  you  funny,  solemn 
old  fool !  "  replied  she,  "  leave  that  to  me.  I  know 
what  is  true  economy  in  these  affairs.  Mrs.  Squan 
der  gave  a  thousand  for  hers,  at  her  last  hop.  You 
shall  not  be  outdone  by  that  stingy  old  candle- 
twaddler,  her  husband.  Why,  lovey,  you  know  it 
would  injure  your  credit  on  'Change." 

My  father  could  urge  nothing  against  this,  and 
the  delicious  little  kiss  with  which  she  stopped  his 
mouth,  as  she  handed  him  a  check  to  sign  in  pay 
ment  for  the  diamonds  she  wore  the  night  before, 
the  amount  for  which  she  covered  up  with  one  hand, 
while  with  the  other  she  gently  smoothed  his  hair. 
"  There,"  said  she,  as  he  finished,  throwing  both 
arms  around  his  neck  with  what  he  took  to  be  a 
genuine  burst  of  impulsive  affection  towards  him 
self,  but  which  the  tone  of  her  eye  said  to  me  was 
meant  for  his  gold,  "  you  are  a  darling  Croesus ;  a 
sensible  husband,  every  inch  of  you,  and  worth  a 
dozen  of  those  young  fellows  that  plagued  my  life 
out  before  I  saw  and  loved  you ; "  and  she  coquetted 
out  of  the  room  in  the  best  possible  humor,  looking 
lovely  enough  to  have  bewitched  even  a  more 
experienced  heart  than  my  father's. 

"Ah  !  my  boy,  that  woman  fools  me,  and  I  know 
it,"  said  he  to  me ;  "  but  she  does  it  so  gracefully, 
and  it  gives  her  such  pleasure  to  spend  money,  that 


MARRIED  AT  LAST,  BUT  NOT  MY  WEDDING.   255 

I  let  her  do  it,  for  the  present,  in  her  own  way.  She 
will  be  wiser  by  and  by ;  the  young  must  have 
their  amusements." 

This  doctrine,  so  novel  from  my  father,  showed 
me  how  completely  his  new  wife  had  revolutionized 
his  ideas.  He  continued,  "  She  is  so  charitable,  too, 
and  really  religious,  or  means  to  be,  though  her 
way  of  showing  it  is  rather  droll.  Why,  only  a  few 
days  ago,  as  we  were  walking  in  the  park,  she  be 
gan  to  take  off  her  cachemere  shawl  to  give  to  a 
better  sort  of  a  female  beggar,  who  told  her  a  dis 
mal  story,  every  word  of  which  was  sheer  humbug; 
and  she  fairly  persuaded  me  soon  after  into  giving 
a  pew  in  the  Presbyterian  church  to  a  canting  hypo 
crite,  who  said  that  his  wife  and  children  had  no 
means  of  grace,  when  he  really  wanted  money  only 
for  the  rum-shop.  It  was  so  good  a  joke  that  I 
made  him  out  a  deed  at  once.  It  had  always  cost 
me  forty  dollars  in  taxes  annually.  I  had  never 
seen  it,  and  had  never  been  able  to  get  an  offer  for 
it  from  any  one.  If  he  can  convert  it  into  spirit,  I 
shall  become  a  firm  believer  in  transubstantiation  or 
translation  —  which  is  't  they  call  it?" 

The  wag,  at  all  events,  had  survived  in  my  father; 
so  I  did  not  wholly  give  him  up.  But  it  was  not 
agreeable  for  me  to  remain  long  under  the  same 
roof  with  Mrs.  Bullion,  who  also  felit  my  presence 
irksome  to  her,  because  we  neither  were  deceived 
in  the  other.  I  soon  left  for  another  city,  and 
heard  nothing  more  of  my  father  for  ten  months, 
when,  to  my  surprise,  the  following  laconic  note 
came  from  him : 


256  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

"DEAR  SON: 

"Come  to  see  me. 

"  Your  affectionate  father, 

"  ROBERT  BULLION." 

I  went  to  him  without  delay.  As  I  entered  the 
house,  I  observed  that  it  looked  very  much  as  it 
did  in  my  mother's  time.  All  the  new  furniture 
had  gone,  and  the  former  simplicity  was  restored. 
"  Well,"  thought  I,  "  my  father  is  a  wonderful 
preacher,  if  he  has  proselyted  my  gay  mother-in- 
law  to  this  change." 

He  appeared  in  a  few  minutes,  looking  much 
older  than  when  I  last  saw  him,  and  simply  said  to 
me,  "  She  's  gone." 

"  Who  's  gone  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Why,  she ;  Mrs.  Bullion,  to  be  sure  ;  "  and  as  he 
mentioned  the  name,  he  drew  a  long  sigh;  but 
whether  of  regret  or  relief,  I  could  not  make  out. 

"  You  amaze  me,  father ;  tell  me  what  has  taken 
place." 

"  I  sent  for  you,  my  son,  for  that  purpose.  Sit 
down.  You  see  me  a  wiser  man  than  when  you 
left.  Ah  !  your  poor  mother,  how  little  I  knew  her 
value,  until  taught  by  that  hussy  that  succeeded 
her !  It  serves  me  right,  however.  I  lived  a  one 
sided  life,  stinting  her  soul,  depriving  myself  of 
her  real  affections,  and  compelling  her  to  live  a  life 
of  barren  duty  —  for  what,  think  you  ?  Why,  that 
Mr.  Bullion's  name  might  be  the  weightiest  on 
'Change.  It  was.  My  shrewdness  was  proverbial, 
as  you  know,  in  business ;  but  in  the  affections  I  was 


MARRIED   AT   LAST,   BUT  NOT  MY  WEDDING.         257 

a  mere  puppet.  I  overlooked  them,  and  they  avenged 
themselves.  I,  Robert  Bullion,  whose  name  circu 
lates  in  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe,  with  honor 
and  credit  in  his  profession,  have  been  made  the 
tool  and  sport  of  an  artful  minx  !  So  long  as  she 
merely  threw  away  my  money,  I  did  not  much  care  ; 
but  when  she  began  to  throw  away  my  honor,  it 
aroused  my  old  self.  Expostulations  and  quarrels 
took  place.  I  forbade  her  to  receive  certain  former 
admirers  of  hers  j  she  flared  up,  and  swore  —  for  she 
could  swear,  it  seems  —  she  would ;  and  she  was  as 
good  as  her  word,  privately,  for  I  made  it  impossible, 
openly.  I  believe  that  she  did  it  more  from  oppo 
sition  to  me  than  from  criminality.  But  the  world 
knew  it,  and  the  effect  was  the  same.  I  told  her 
that  she  must  go.  The  allowance  I  gave  more  than 
consoled  her,  and  she  left  three  weeks  since  for 
Europe.  We  shall  never  meet  again. 

"  Now,  my  dear  boy,  the  story  is  all  told.  I  have 
but  few  years  left,  at  the  most ;  and  I  will  try  to  be 
a  better  father  to  you,  if  it  be  not  too  late.  We 
both  now  equally  appreciate  and  mourn  our  de 
parted  one.  God  took  her  from  me,  but  to  make 
her  as  happy  as  she  deserved  to  be.  Here  's  my 
hand  ;  here  7s  your  home,  whenever  you  wish  it ;  I 
neither  understood  her  nor  you,  Lanie ;  but  better 
late  than  never.  Good-by  till  dinner-time ; "  and 
my  father,  with  moistened  eyes,  left  the  room. 

My   tears   fell   fast.      Mother,    mother,    you    are 
known  at  last!     On  my  knees,  I  thanked  God  for 
the  happiest  moment  of  my  life. 
22* 


CHAPTEE    XXX. 

A   SURPRISE   TO   TWO. 

DURING  the  extreme  heat  of  summer  I  had  gone 
to  a  secluded  but  prettily-situated  inland  village, 
where  nature  still  retained  much  of  its  wild  charms 
of  forest  and  lake.  But  few  visitors  from  our  cities 
invaded  its  privacy,  as  it  was  out  of  the  range  of 
railroad  or  steamboat.  On  this  account  it  possessed 
more  attractions  for  me  j  especially  as  to  wander  at 
random  over  field  and  wood,  or  to  ply  my  solitary 
oar  on  the  picturesque  lake,  taking  possession,  Ilob- 
inson  Crusoe  like,  of  its  pretty  little  islets,  where, 
with  book  or  fishing-rod,  the  hours  passed  sooth 
ingly  and  pleasantly,  was  an  unfailing  pleasure. 
The  dread  which  so  many  have  of  being  alone  with 
nature  or  their  own  spirit  costs  them  not  only  a 
certain  degree  of  moral  independence  and  freedom, 
but  deprives  them  of  close  communion  with  the 
elementary  bases  of  being,  by  which  we  have  our 
nearest  access  to  primary  truths.  Sky  and  water, 
pebble  and  plant ;  the  brightly-colored  shell  that  lies 
broken  and  wave-worn  on  the  beach,  the  curious 
and  forsaken  habitation  of  one  of  man's  progress 
ive  antecedents  in  creation;  the  oak  that  bravely 


A  SURPRISE  TO  TWO.  259 

lifts  itself  upward,  as  the  wild  wind  sighs  requiems 
or  fiercely  screams  through  its  branches,  wrench 
ing  frail  leaf  and  stem  from  parent  trunk ;  the  gentle 
vine  that  clings  lovingly  around  it,  or  the  velvety 
moss  which  carpets  our  path;  cloud,  bird,  tree, 
bush,  butterfly,  and  worm  —  all,  all  are  voices  of  the 
great  central  soul,  and  speak  to  us  of  things  we 
long  for,  and  shall  find,  if  we  but  open  our  ears  to 
their  utterance.  He  who  can  tune  his  heart  to  the 
great  harmonies  of  nature  is  never  sad  nor  solitary. 
There  are  tidings  for  him  on  every  breeze,  and  from 
out  of  every  light  and  shadow.  The  very  air  is 
laden  with  sympathy,  and  in  all  material  forms  he 
discerns  a  mysterious,  infinite,  and  varied  life,  con 
nected  with  and  concentrated  in  his  own ;  himself 
the  object  to  which  all  things  around  him  tend. 
Can  the  being  who  sees  all  this  distrust  the  Giver  ? 
Amid  such  scenes  and  thoughts  I  became  tranquil 
and  contented,  though  never  devoid  of  a  sensation 
of  a  loss  or  want  of  a  certain  intangible  something 
on  which  wholly  to  repose  my  affections.  When 
hungry,  these  will  crave  food,  irrespective  of  our 
wills.  As  the  worst  evil  that  can  happen  to  us  is 
diseased  feeling,  the  only  radical  cure  is  upon  the 
homoeopathic  principle  —  like  administered  to  like. 
Disappointed  love  requires  healthy  love  to  eradicate 
it ;  avarice,  the  satisfaction  of  lawful  gains  ;  all  vice, 
the  superiority  of  antithetic  virtue.  Hence,  the 
greatest  benefit  that  can  accrue  to  man  springs 
not  from  external  fortune,  but  from  those  agencies 
with  which  nature  restores  the  mind  to  healthful 
sentiments  and  action. 


260  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

One  day,  while  sitting  on  a  favorite  rock  which 
overlooked  the  lake,  I  heard  the  bark  of  a  dog  close 
behind  me,  and  at  the  same  moment  the  noise  of  a 
person  approaching  through  the  bushes.  Upon  turn 
ing,  I  noticed  a  lady  coming  towards  the  spot  where 
I  was  seated.  Her  face  was  bent  towards  the  earth, 
for  .she  was  picking  her  way  slowly  through  the  rude 
path.  She  did  not  notice  me  until  close  upon  me  ; 
when,  looking  suddenly  up,  we  both  gave  a  start  of 
surprise.  My  heart  beat  violently,  and,  for  an  instant, 
paralyzed  my  movements.  The  lady  turned  pale, 
and  began  to  totter,  as  if  about  to  fall.  This  aroused 
me,  and  I  sprang  forward  to  assist  her ;  but  she  mo 
tioned  me  away,  and  sank  upon  the  ground,  without 
power  to  aid  herself.  In  an  instant  I  rushed  to  the 
lake,  wetted  my  handkerchief  in  the  water,  and 
sprinkled  her  face.  As  she  recovered  she  opened 
her  eyes,  and,  with  an  expression  of  deep  pain,  said, 
"  Am  I  dreaming  ?  Is  it  Lanie  I  see  by  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madam,  it  is,  or  was,  Lanie/'  I  replied.  "  Per 
mit  me  to  aid  you  to  reach  your  friends.  I  presume 
your  husband  cannot  be  far  off." 

"  My  husband  !  "  exclaimed  she,  —  "  my  husband  ! 
What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  Mr.  Plaster  ;  whom  else  can  I  mean  ?  "  I 
coldly  replied. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir,  for  my  intrusion.  I  assure  you 
that  it  was  wholly  unintentional ;  I  was  not  aware 
even  that  you  were  in  America.  Thanks  for  your 
assistance;  my  faint  turn,  to  which  I  have  been  liable 
of  late  years,  has  passed,  and  I  can  reach  my  parents 
by  myself;  they  are  not  far  off/7  said  she,  as  she 


A  SUEPEISE  TO   TWO.  261 

turned  to  go  ;  but  her  emotion  was  too  great,  and 
she  tottered  to  the  rock,  and  sat  down. 

I  was  moved,  and  took  her  hand.  She  did  not 
withdraw  it.  Moved  by  an  impulse  which  I  could 
not  control,  I  asked,  "  Are  you  happy  ?  " 

"  Happy  !  "  she  mechanically  echoed,  "  and  that 
question  from  you  ?  Yes,  yes,  I  am  very  happy ; 
0,  yes,  always  happy  !"  said  she,  pressing  her  hand 
upon  her  heart.  "  Are  you  not  happy  ?  " 

"  I  am  becoming  so,"  I  said,  somewhat  bitterly, 
"  thanks  to  your  lesson." 

"  i  My  lesson  ! '  '  My  husband  ! '  My  head  swims  ! 
"What  do  you  mean  ?  0  !  tell  me,  Lanie  !  Whatever 
else  there  may  be,  let  no  falsehood  or  hatred  come 
between  us  !  " 

My  old  feeling  of  coldness  and  resentment  came 
over  me,  as  I  thought  that  she  equivocated  or  jested. 
What !  the  wife  of  Jonathan  Plaster  not  understand 
my  meaning?  This  was  too  much. 

"  I  see  that  you  are  quite  recovered,  Mrs.  Plaster. 
As  my  presence  evidently  annoys  you,  I  will  go, 
leaving  you  in  the  company  of  your  heart,  if  you 
have  one ! "  I  said  to  her  with  sarcastic  emphasis,  as 
I  turned  on  my  heel. 

She  sprang  up,  and,  seizing  my  hands,  drew  me  on 
to  the  rock  beside  her,  then  burst  into  tears,  and  for 
a  while  sobbed  violently.  , 

I  was  both  confused  and  touched  by  her  emotion, 
which  I  saw  was  genuine,  though  I  could  net  under 
stand  why  she  was  so  agitated. 

I  again  attempted  to  go.  "  No  !  no  !  "  she  ex 
claimed,  "  you  shall  stay  until  I  know  all !  Lanie, 


262  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

look  up  to  the  heaven  above  us,  and  tell  me  why 
were  you  false  !  " 

"  I  false  !  Constantia  !  false  ! ! !  Do  I  hear  aright  ? 
And  you,  the  false  wife  of  a  false  friend,  ask  me  such 
a  question  !  I  had  learned  to  forget  both  you  and 
him;  now  may  my  bitterest  curses  light  on  you 
both,  for  reminding  me  of  my  blasted  hopes  and  tor 
tured  feelings  !  What !  would  you  be  false  twice  ? 
A  double  traitress  !  Let  me  go,  before  worse  comes 
of  this  meeting  !  " 

My  violence,  instead  of  alarming,  seemed  to  nerve 
her  to  fulfil  a  long-concealed  resolution.  She  turned 
to  me  calmly,  and  slowly  replied,  "  For  years  I  have 
longed  to  meet  you  ;  and  yet,  had  my  life  depended 
upon  it,  I  would  not  have  stepped  aside  to  seek  it. 
Now  an  accident  has  brought  us  together,  you  shall 
tell,  and  hear  from  me,  all,  before  we  part.  Quiet 
yourself;  —  I  am  not  married.'' 

"  Not  married  !  Don't  jest  with  me  —  I  am  in  no 
mood  for  that !  Did  I  not  myself  read  the  banns  of 
marriage  between  you  and  Jonathan  ?  " 

"  You  may  have  read  them,"  she  replied,  "  for 
they  were  published.  But,"  added  she,  with  a  look 
of  mingled  shame  and  anger,  "  we  were  not  mar 
ried,  for  all  that." 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  I  hurriedly  asked. 

She  passed  her  hand  over  her  forehead,  as  if  to 
brush  away  painful  recollections,  and  then  continued. 
"  At  whatever  cost  to  my  love  and  pride,  you  shall 
know  the  truth.  Let  me  tell  my  story  first.  I  heard 
from  you  but  once  after  you  sailed  and  that  was 
soon  after  your  arrival  at  Lilibolu.  That  letter  I 


A  STJRPBISE  TO  TWO.  263 

fondly  kept,  hoping  each  month  for  others.  None 
came.  Jonathan  came  often  to  see  me,  telling  me  that 
you  had  also  stopped  writing  to  him.  When  I  ques 
tioned  him  about  you,  he  said  but  little,  but  looked 
as  if  he  knew  what  he  would  not  tell.  He  grew 
more  and  more  attentive  ;  at  first,  as  if  it  were  only  to 
console  mo  in  your  absence.  I  confess  it,  —  at  last 
he  acquired  a  control  over  me  that  I  could  neither 
shake  off  nor  learn  to  do  without.  He  had  made 
himself  necessary  to  my  existence.  By  degrees  he 
spoke  with  less  reserve  of  you — said  he  had  news,  but 
wished  me  not  to  question  him.  At  last  he  told  me 
that  you  had  built  a  house,  and  were  living  with  a 
native  mistress,  with  no  intention  of  returning." 

"  What !  he  told  you  that  ?  "  I  shouted,  and,  jump 
ing  to  my  feet,  paced  with  clenched  hands  up  and 
down  the  sod  before  her,  every  nerve  quivering 
with  suppressed  rage  and  indignation.  At  last  I 
stopped,  and,  looking  fixedly  into  her  eyes,  whis 
pered  between  my  teeth  upon  him  such  an  impreca 
tion  that  even  now  the  very  recollection  of  its  energy 
and  depth  all  but  stops  my  heart's  beat.  I  dare  not 
repeat  it ;  I  trust  it  is  forgiven.  I  would  not  know 
again  the  weight  of  such  a  hatred  upon  myself,  to 
avenge  a  lifetime  of  wrongs.  I  felt  as  if  the  strength 
of  seventy  Samsons  had  come  into  my  veins ;  and, 
had  the  traitor  appeared  before  me  »then,  I  could 
have  torn  him  to  pieces  as  if  he  were  but  a  rotten 
rag.  Cain  was  stamped  upon  my  brow.  We  may 
be  murderers  without  blood's  flowing.  I  felt  it.  My 
rage  seemed  to  disintegrate  my  moral  being.  I 
lived  years  in  that  moment,  so  sudden  and  complete 


264  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

was  the  shock.  My  physical  being  at  last  shrunk 
beneath  it,  as  though  it  were  a  consuming  fire,  and 
I  became  as  weak  as  if  life  flickered  tu wards  its  last 
flame.  May  God  forever  keep  me  and  you  from  the 
like  emotion  ! 

Constantia  was  breathless.  We  neither  could 
speak,  for  some  time.  She  trembled  all  over,  and 
looked  at  me  beseechingly,  with  tears  flowing  down 
her  cheeks.  I  threw  myself  at  her  feet,  with  my 
hands  pressed  tight  upon  my  eyes,  trying  to  shut 
out  memory  with  the  light ;  but  those  damning 
words  continued  to  gnaw  at  my  heart  as  with  the 
fangs  of  a  viper.  It  was  not  the  loss  of  love  that 
was  my  agony,  but  the  treachery  to  friendship. 
How  clear  it  all  came  to  me  now,  in  one  second  !  My 
letters  had  been  kept  back  ;  hers  had  not  been  sent ; 
he  —  he  —  my  friend  —  had  foully  lied  to 

"  Well,  well !  what  then  ?  "  said  I,  fiercely  and 
impatiently  ;  "  tell  me  all  —  do  not  spare  one 
word  !  " 

"  There  is  but  little  more  to  tell,"  replied  Con 
stantia,  sadly,  and  with  an  effort.  "  I  was  beside 
myself,  at  his  words,  and  did  not  stop  to  think. 
They  stung  me  with  anger  and  mortification.  At 
first  I  denied  them ;  but  it  was  more  out  of  pride 
than  faith,  for  I  am,  as  you  know,  jealous.  He 
brought  proofs,  —  or  what,  in  my  frantic,  suspicious, 
and  I  fear  vindictive  state  of  mind,  seemed  to  be 
such ;  but  I  see  by  your  looks  that  they  were  forged 
tales.  Gradually  he  soothed  me,  and  at  last  proposed 
for  my  hand.  After  repeated  refusals,  I  accepted 
him.  There  was  more  vengeance  towards  you  than 


A   SURPRISE   TO   TWO.  265 

love  for  him  in  this,  on  my  part;  though  he  swayed 
my  mind  more  completely  than  any  one  ever  did 
before  or  since,  and  it  seemed  impossible  for  me  to 
separate  myself  from  him.  Still  I  was  dissatisfied 
and  unhappy.  The  marriage  day  was  fixed,  when  I 
heard  that  you  had  returned.  A  revulsion  of  feeling 
seized  me.  I  became  very  ill.  My  mother  said  that 
I  was  at  times  out  of  my  head,  and  often  called  upon 
you.  As  soon  as  I  was  well  enough,  I  sent  for  Jon 
athan,  and  told  him  that  our  marriage  could  not 
take  place.  He  entreated,  threatened,  expostulated, 
begged  to  know  my  reasons.  I  really  believe  that 
he  loved  me,  his  distress  and  violence  were  so  great ; 
but  I  was  firm,  and  gave  him  no  answer,  except  it 
must  not  be  ;  and  he  left  me  in  great  anger.  I  have 
not  seen  him  since,  but  hear  he  is  married,  and  his 
wife  unhappy.  My  story  is  done." 

******* 
******* 

Never  had  I  seen  Constantia  looking  more  lovely. 
Sorrow  had,  it  is  true,  somewhat  paled  her  cheeks, 
but  her  expression  had  become  more  refined  and 
intellectual,  while  her  eyes  still  gave  evidence  that 
their  vivacious  fires  were  only  temporarily  subdued, 
not  extinguished.  Time  had  perfected  her  slight 
and  graceful  figure.  There  is  a  witchery  in  certain 
female  natures  that  overmasters  men's,  by  subduing 
at  once  their  weakest  and  best  points,  without  allow 
ing  reason  to  utter  one  word.  It  is  sufficient  only 
that  the  electrical  poles  of  opposite  feelings  be 
brought  into  contact  to  produce  an  immediate 
explosion. 

23 


266  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

Undoubtedly  we  were  destined  to  be  mutually  the 
victims  of  our  instinctive  sentiments,  and  there  was 
no  escaping  our  fate.  As  I  gazed  into  her  face,  now 
flushed  with  tenderness,  the  memory  of  early  days 
softened  me,  and  I  forgot  both  rage  and  suffering. 
Constantia  suddenly  became  to  me  as  if  we  had  never 
been  parted.  Taking  her  hands  between  mine,  I 
asked,  more  to  hear  her  reply  than  doubting  its 
character,  "Do  you  still  love  me  ?  " 

A  pair  of  beautiful  arms  warmly  clasped  my  neck, 
and  her  excited  heart  beat  sweet  music  against 
mine,  as  she  said,  in  her  dearest,  gentlest  tones,  "Do 
you  forgive  me,  Lanie  —  all,  even  my  unbelief?  " 

My  warm  embrace,  and  lingering  kiss,  —  pardon 
me,  I  should  say  kisses,  —  convinced  her  of  that. 

That  day  month  we  were  married. 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

THE   RESULT. 

MARRIAGE  is  ordinarily  considered  the  holy  of 
holies  of  life,  behind  whose  veil  only  the  consecrated 
high-priest  can  be  permitted  to  look.  In  reality  it  is 
but  the  second  step  in  existence  :  first,  birth ;  next, 
union  to  our  ideal ;  and,  as  our  choice  is  unlimited, 
with  the  ten  thousand  blanks  of  ignorance,  passion, 
selfishness,  interest,  and  sentiment,  to  the  one  prize 
of  true  love,  the  chances  are  greatly  against  com 
plete  satisfaction  in  this  state.  We  slip  into  it, 
buoyed  up  with  hope,  desire,  and  self-deception,  mis 
taking  its  real  significance,  and  our  own  actual  wants. 
If  we  treated  it  more  candidly,  it  would  deceive  us  the 
less.  I  shall  confess,  in  a  few  words,  my  subsequent 
experience  and  temptations,  as  a  sort  of  moral  reg 
ister,  by  which  the  true  value  of  the  institution,  as 
an  educator,  can  be  indicated,  and  then  close  the 
affectional  phase  of  life  with  my  views  tin  detail  of 
the  legitimate  origin  and  object  of  marriage. 

The  insipidity  of  merely  good  people  is  proverb 
ial.  It  would  appear  that  nature,  in  one  sense, 
intended  evil  as  the  salt  wherewith  life  should  be 
seasoned.  Certain  it  is,  without  it  we  should  not 


268  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

keep.  Our  good  would  corrupt,  and  breed  maggots. 
Evil,  therefore,  is  beneficial,  inasmuch  as  it  keeps  us 
in  active  chase  of  good,  and  compels  us  to  go  from 
one  level  of  thought  or  action  to  another,  superior 
or  inferior,  as  our  will  dictates.  Until,  therefore,  we 
learn  to  seek  truth  for  its  own  sake,  cleaving  hope 
fully  to  its  pursuit,  despite  every  obstacle,  we  should 
be  thankful  that  nature  permits  no  repose  for  the 
wicked,  but  provides  a  scourge  to  lash  sinners  into 
better  paths. 

Our  impulses  are,  of  necessity,  in  their  origin 
legitimate  and  proper.  Sin  or  virtue  is  the  condi 
tion  of  their  gratification.  In  our  theories  or  desires 
in  the  abstract,  we  aim  to  know  and  attain  goodness 
and  truth  ;  our  wills,  whence  spring  actions,  in  seek 
ing  by  short  cuts  and  temporary  expedients  to  fore- 
reach  these  objects,  or  pervert  them  to  selfish  ambi 
tion,  precipitate  us  into  evils  of  every  nature.  But, 
as  evils  are  our  rightful  physicians,  once  diseased,  we 
could  not  be  healed  without  their  blisterings  and 
bleedings. 

A  greater  wonder  to  many  than  the  woman  in 
heaven,  is  the  difference  between  theory  and  action. 
He  who  thinks  rightly  very  often  acts  wrongly. 
Nothing  is  more  natural,  because  thought  or  theory  is 
based  upon  the  mind,  which  within  itself  holds  high 
counsel  independent  of  the  body,  and  hence,  as 
the  nobler  organism,  manifests  its  abstract  superi 
ority  j  but,  when  will  impels  to  action,  then  comes 
the  antagonism  of  the  material  senses  and  physical 
infirmities.  Like  the  effect  of  common  glass  in  dis 
torting  rays  of  light,  they  compel  the  superior  fac- 


THE   RESULT.  269 

ulty  to  manifest  itself  in  disturbed  relations  with 
itself;  and  it  is  only  by  actual  experience  of  the 
power  of  the  former  to  subdue  and  cheat  the  latter, 
that  we  acquire  a  degree  of  self-control,  which,  under 
all  circumstances,  in  giving  to  each  element  of  life 
its  due  satisfaction,  enables  us  to  be  wise  unto  sal 
vation. 

True  wisdom  is  not,  therefore,  the  fruit  of  asceti 
cism,  any  more  than  it  is  the  result  of  unlimited 
indulgence.  Either  extreme  produces  imbecility 
and  decrepitude.  Manhood  must  know,  judge,  and 
act.  It  cannot  develop  itself  by  isolation,  nor 
strengthen  itself  by  yielding  loose  rein  to  either 
appetites,  sentiments,  or  mere  intellect.  As  from 
one  extreme  it  swings  to  another,  if  reason  be  per 
mitted  to  check  its  motion,  gradually  it  will  approx 
imate  towards  its  true  balance.  The  greater  part 
of  our  evil  is  simply  the  result  of  mistaken  educa 
tion.  As  infants,  men  are  alternately  stuffed  and 
starved,  whipped  and  caressed  ;  their  instincts 
wrongly  trained,  their  intellects  conventionally 
cramped,  deluged  with  physic,  dogmas,  and  laws, 
until  all  natural  freedom  is  crushed,  and  body  and 
soul  are  alike  slave-bound  to  sensual  wants  and  erro 
neous  ideas.  What  wonder  that  the  earth,  in  the 
continued  struggle  to  emerge  from  its  vassalage,  so 
often  becomes  an  Aceldama  !  > 

But  from  out  of  its  moral  chaos  there  is  a  sure 
clue,  if  in  our  groping  we  but  find  its  end.  It  must, 
however,  be  diligently  sought.  As  life  comes,  so 
accept  it ;  dodging  none  of  its  issues  ;  facing  alike 
temptation  and  gratification ;  turning  on  every  side 
23* 


270  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

each  proffered  object  to  find  out  where  lies  its  dry- 
rot  ;  sifting  experience  to  preserve  the  good  seed 
that  may  be  found  amid  its  chaff ;  planting,  cultivat 
ing,  and  harvesting,  and  planting,  cultivating,  and 
harvesting  again, —  a  never-ceasing  daily  labor;  pas 
sions,  affections,  and  mental  seekings,  all  gradually 
taking  their  proper  place  in  the  foundation  of  char 
acter,  blinking  no  truth,  and  fearing  no  disclosures, 
if  so  be  that  onward  progress  comes  of  our  bravery. 
"Whatever  happens,  this  is  the  test  of  its  good  or  evil. 
Eventually  a  moral  independence  must  be  reached 
that  will  lift  us  above  the  ordinary  currents  of  life. 
However  much  they  roar  or  eddy,  we  have  risen 
out  of  their  suction,  calmly  facing  each  event  as  a 
welcome  lesson  in  wisdom ;  trusting  in  our  morrow, 
because,  having  got  above  the  want  of  the  day,  — 
knowing,  from  our  adaptation  to  the  infinite,  it  must 
eventually  be  ours,  —  we  plant  ourselves  beyond  the 
common  and  temporary,  and  in  having  learned  to  do 
without  acquire  a  command  over  them,  so  that  the 
more  thirsty  in  soul  shall  be  drawn  to  our  fuller 
wells  to  drink.  He  who  would  command  true  friend 
ship  or  love  must  first  learn  to  live  independent  of 
both  in  their  finite  forms. 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

A  UNION  THAT  IS  NOT  A  UNION. 

THERE  is  undoubtedly  some  truth  at  the  bottom 
of  every  generally-received  opinion,  past  or  present. 
He  who  could  succeed  in  extricating  the  seed-fact, 
in  its  original  estate,  from  out  of  the  huge  falsehood- 
encrusted  mass  around  it,  would  perform  for  man 
kind  a  curious  service  ;  though,  were  it  possible  to 
do  so  before  nature  indicated  the  right  time,  a  fatal 
one  to  the  object  itself.  For  it  is  evident,  in  our 
present  stage  of  growth,  that  error  is  the  protecting 
husk  of  young  truth,  after  the  same  manner  that  the 
coarse,  heavy  shell  conceals  the  growing  pearl. 
Truths,  also,  which  have  fulfilled  their  special  mis 
sions,  become  mummefied ;  and  it  is  only  by  strip 
ping  off  their  bandages  that  we  get  an  idea  of  their 
former  figure,  just  as  disinterred  fossils  reveal  the 
growths  of  antediluvian  ages. 

One  of  the  widest-spread  and  most  enduring  of 
these  mixed  opinions  is,  that  woman  is  the  original 
source  of  human  misery.  The  Lemnian  woes  still 
survive,  a  by-word  of  horror.  Brahma,  in  Hindoo 
mythology,  was  linked  to  a  demon-wife.  Greece, 
Rome,  Judea,  Persia,  through  the  legends  of  Helen, 


272  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

Atalanta,  Medea,  Pandora,  Eve,  or  Ahriman,  all  unite 
to  perpetuate  this  ungallant  idea.  What  a  bitter 
reproach  to  the  sex  !  But  there  must  be  some  foun 
dation  for  this  universal  charge.  What,  then,  is  it  ? 

The  capacity  for  evil  of  a  nation  or  an  individual 
can  be  accurately  gauged  by  their  inverse  power  of 
good,  as  in  the  physical  world  the  foulest  corrup 
tion  is  united  to  the  richest  organizations.  It  is  self- 
evident  that  the  greatest  natures  are  susceptible 
of  the  widest  extremes.  Of  all  races  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  exhibits  the  strongest  and  most  prolific  action 
in  both  directions,  in  the  degree  that  their  moral  or 
selfish  faculties  are  aroused.  Consequently  their 
ideas  are  fast  becoming  the  dominant  civilization  of 
the  globe. 

Apply  this  principle  to  female  nature,  and  we  get 
at  the  secret  of  man's  mingled  love  and  hate  of  the 
sex.  Its  capacity  is  equal  to  the  greatest  extremes 
of  good  and  evil.  By  that  which  is  meanest  or 
noblest  in  himself,  woman  sways  him  in  his  moral 
destiny.  For  all  that  is  low,  weak,  sensual,  selfish, 
deceitful,  and  malicious,  she  offers  a  corresponding 
affinity,  to  tempt  him  to  still  lower  levels  j  while  for 
that  which  is  noble,  true,  pure,  and  loving,  she  man 
ifests  even  higher  capacity,  in  order  to  exalt  him 
to  the  standard  of  her  own  hopes  and  affections. 

As  mother,  wife,  sweet-heart,  sister,  or  friend, 
woman  takes  her  relation  to  man  either  as  the  bane 
or  antidote  of  life ;  but,  as  evil  is  ever  noisy  and 
officious,  while  good  is  silent  and  unobtrusive,  men 
harp  ungenerously  upon  their  fall,  forgetful  that  she 
is  equally  the  author  of  their  rise,  and  that  the  will 


A  UNION  THAT  IS   NOT  A  UNION.  273 

to  accept  the  one  or  the  other  influence  lies  in  his 
own  keeping. 

Marriage  is  the  great  crucible  in  which  the  sex 
ual  virtues  or  vices  are  tested.  Where  natures  are 
mutually  intractable,  or,  like  oil  and  water,  unmix- 
able,  the  secret  of  peace  and  progress  is  to  keep 
them  going  forward,  parallel,  but  never  touching  — 
as  do  two  carriage-wheels,  each  in  its  own  rut.  In 
terests  and  inclinations  during  the  immatured  expe 
riences  of  marriage  prompt  to  constant  contact ;  so 
that  much  nettling  and  chafing  must,  necessarily 
arise,  until  both  parties,  having  exhausted  the  dia 
pason  of  disappointment  and  recrimination,  mutually 
agree  to  jog  placably  along  life's  highway  together; 
and,  if  not  haply  linked,  like  the  Siamese  twins,  by  a 
ligature  of  temperaments,  to  a  uniform  motive,  to  at 
least  give  to  each  other  scope  and  aid  in  developing 
his  or  her  individualities  in  their  most  fitting  direc 
tions. 

Constantia  and  myself  immediately  began  to  per 
ceive  that  we  had  mistaken  the  action  of  a  few  com 
mon  sentiments  for  an  instinct  of  union.  Never  were 
self-deceptions  more  pitilessly  denuded.  We  fought 
our  traitorous  natures  for  ten  years,  with  occasional 
truces,  and  now  and  then  a  tantalizing  delusion  of 
joyous  union,  vainly  hoping  to  permanently  amalga 
mate  j  but  as  both  of  us,  in  the  end,  6nly  grew  the 
stronger  in  the  direction  of  our  radical  differences 
of  body  and  mind,  each  struggle  separated  us  the 
further,  until  the  wisdom  of  agreeing  to  disagree 
became  too  evident  to  be  longer  disregarded. 

My  confessions  would  be  incomplete  did  I  not 


274  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

frankly  state  our  connubial  discoveries.  Generally, 
they  may  be  condensed  into  the  following  phrase  : 
"  We  neither  felt,  acted,  nor  thought  alike,  in  any 
relation  whatever."  A  bill  of  particulars  will,  how 
ever,  better  elucidate  our  differences. 

FIRST,   PHYSICALLY  : 

I  am  warm  by  nature  :  she  is  cold. 
I  am  active  :  she  is  indolent. 
I  am  sleepless  and  restless :  she  is  the  reverse. 
I  love  to  rise  early:  she  loves  to  sleep  late. 
I  like  game  and  fatty  meats  :  she  detests  them. 
I  like  roast  joints  :  she  prefers  entrees. 
I  like  sweet  fruits  :  she  loves  only  the  acid. 
I  prefer  red  wines  :  she  chooses  the  white. 

SECONDLY,   SOCIALLY  : 

Balls  and  fashionable  life  are  an  abomination  to 
me,  but  her  delight. 

My  friends  can  neither  be  her  friends,  nor  her 
friends  mine. 

Her  taste  leads  to  expensive  amusements  and 
dress :  mine,  to  extravagance  in  books  and  works  of 
art.  So  we  are  each  economical  where  the  other 
would  freely  spend,  while  neither  is  able  to  gratify 
either  self  or  the  other. 

In  the  accessories  of  life,  where  I  am  a  stoic  she 
is  an  epicurean.  She  sacrifices  to  sensuous  exist 
ence  :  I,  to  the  intellectual.  My  motives  and  enjoy 
ments  are  incomprehensible  to  her,  and  hers  frivo 
lous  and  antipathetic  to  me. 

I  am  independent  of  society:  she,  dependent 
upon  it. 


A  UNION  THAT  IS  NOT  A  UNION.  275 

THIRDLY,  INTELLECTUALLY  : 

She  devours  only  the  lightest  French  literature,  as 
a  thirsty  man  in  the  dog-days  drinks  iced  soda- 
water.  Of  my  literary  proclivities  the  reader,  in 
time,  may  judge  for  himself. 

FOURTHLY,  MORALLY  : 

Constantia  is  quick-tempered,  unsympathetic,  ex 
acting,  vain,  and  unyielding ;  disguising  to  no  one 
her  sentiments  or  opinions,  often  offending  her  own 
sex,  and  alternately  pleasing  and  piquing  the  other.  I 
am  morbidly  reserved,  proud,  and  taciturn ;  feeling 
deeply,  —  at  times  impulsively  betraying  it,  and  at 
others  as  immovable  as  marble,  but  easily  mollified 
by  frankness  and  sincerity,  or  governed  by  affection. 
She  is  as  much  a  stranger  to  my  inner  as  I  am  to  her 
outer  life.  My  mind  tends  to  faith  :  hers,  to  scepti 
cism.  She  would  have  married  St.  Thomas:  I 
should  have  been  happy  with  Mary  Magdalen.  In 
short,  so  far  are  our  gastric  juices,  sexual  instincts,  or 
mental  desires,  from  having  any  sympathies  in  com 
mon,  that  they  act  upon  each  other  at  sight  or  touch 
like  hostile  currents  of  electricity. 

When  we  were  first  acquainted,  she  often  sang  a 
little  song  that  made  a  deep  impression  upon  me. 
Not  long  after  we  were  married,  for  association's 
sake,  I  requested  to  hear  it  again.  '"How  stupid 
you  are  !  "  she  replied.  "  Why  do  you  tease  me  to 
sing  such  an  old-fashioned  song  ?  You  know  noth 
ing  about  music  ! "  And  after  this  manner  she  re 
peatedly  refused  to  gratify  me.  One  day,  after  being 
repulsed  with  more  than  common  want  of  feeling, 


276  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

I  took  the  song  from  her  music-rack,  and  calmly  tore 
it  to  pieces  before  her,  without  saying  a  word. 

Constantia  accused  me  of  petty  temper,  and 
ridiculed  it.  Had  she  but  known,  it  was  the  greatest 
compliment  I  could  have  paid  her.  I  have  never 
listened  to  that  song  since. 

Active  evils  are  seldom  dangerous  to  an  energetic, 
firm  disposition,  because  they  call  forth  correspond 
ing  active  resistance.  The  worst  relationship  is  not 
that  which  directly  excites  or  prompts  to  wrong 
doing,  but  that  which  starves  the  affections,  and 
keeps  up  a  constant  mental  irritation,  from  an  isola 
tion  of  sympathies  arid  thoughts.  Hence  there  is  no 
sadder  exile  than  that  of  the  heart  from  love's  com 
panionship.  We  learn,  finally,  to  live  alone  ;  but 
bitterly  and  gloomily  the  minutes  drag  themselves 
along,  after  the  gates  of  our  youthful  paradise  are 
first  closed  upon  us.  Wait,  learn,  and  watch,  and 
our  disappointment  may  prove  the  weaning  of  divin 
ity  into  a  nobler  life. 

The  causes  which  prevented  Constantia  and 
myself  from  harmonizing  may  seem  comparatively 
trivial,  because  nothing  vicious  or  criminal  existed 
among  them ;  but  they  had  their  origin  in  the  ele 
ments  of  our  being,  and  were  therefore  hopelessly 
irreconcilable.  Passive  suffering  is  the  most  wear 
ing  of  human  ills.  Some  natures,  without  any  posi 
tive  fault  of  their  own,  grate  on  another's  existence, 
when  forced  into  daily  contact,  with  an  effect  on 
the  nervous  system  to  be  likened  only  to  the  torture 
of  slow  fire  as  applied  to  the  body.  The  weak  wilt 
and  die ;  the  strong  writhe  and  burst  their  shackles. 


A  UNION  THAT  IS  NOT   A  UNION.  277 

But  there  is  an  antagonism  of  natures  even  more 
subtly  cruel;  so  refined,  so  natural,  and  so  blame 
less,  as  to  make  life,  while  the  internal  conflict  of 
attempted,  fruitless  reconciliation  goes  on,  one  never- 
ceasing  pang,  which  efforts,  tears,  and  prayers,  alike 
fail  to  soothe.  That,  for  years,  was  mine.  Whether 
Constantia  felt  as  much,  God  alone  knows ;  for  she 
gave  me  no  sign,  but  went  gayly  and  carelessly  on 
whenever  the  wind  set  fair  for  her  easily-satisfied 
and  superficial  desires.  I  could  not  so  easily  endure 
isolation  of  heart ;  or,  rather,  it  was  more  difficult 
for  me  to  find  compensation  than  it  was  for  her. 

Twice  we  tried  the  common  remedy  of  separation. 
This  is  effectual  where  no  duties  to  others  inter 
vene  ;  but,  if  others  suffer,  towards  whom  we  have 
voluntarily  assumed  responsibilities,  then  we  are 
bound  to  submit  to  our  personal  evils  for  their  good. 
The  first  time,  it  was  my  proposition.  Absence  alle 
viated  our  respective  conditions,  and,  in  a  fit  of 
sanguine  feeling,  I  suggested  another  trial  at  union. 
This  time  the  result  was  even  worse  than  before ; 
for  Constantia  had  learned  to  love,  or  thought  she 
did,  another.  Always  frank,  even  to  provocation, 
she  soon  disclosed  to  me  the  cause  why  she  was 
utterly  miserable.  I  think  she  tried  to  banish  the 
feeling  ;  but  it  overmastered  her,  and  in  the  struggle 
between  duty  and  wilful  desire, — for  it  was  a  one 
sided  passion,  and  quite  unknown  to  its  object,  —  she 
became  well-nigh  insane.  Again  we  parted,  but 
this  time  at  her  request.  Soon  after,  she  sent  me  a 
note,  in  which  she  thus  expressed  herself: 
24 


278  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  how  deeply  grateful  I  am  for 
your  kindness  and  sympathy  in  my  miserable  state 
of  mind,  —  heart,  I  should  say,  —  and  for  your 
promptness  and  generosity  in  releasing  me  from  a 
position  which  made  me  so  much  the  more  wretched ; 
and  last,  though  not  least,  for  your  constant  liberality 
and  kindness. 

"  For  all  this  I  sincerely  thank  you,  —  and  far 
more.  In  going  back  to  the  time  when  we  again 
tried  to-  live  together,  I  assure  you  no  man  could 
have  been  more  patient  and  sympathizing  in  my 
distress,  more  enduring  with  my  tears,  indifference, 
and  folly,  or  more  ready  to  attempt  to  alleviate  my 
sorrow,  or  divert  my  mind  from  the  unchanging 
misery  which  hung  over  it,  than  yourself.  All  this 
I  shall  never  forget.  I  beg  you  to  accept  my  deep 
est  gratitude.  Among  my  darkest  shadows  will 
always  be  the  reflection  that  my  unfortunate  nature 
will  not  allow  me  to  give  any  proper  return  to  the 
devotion  and  sympathy  of  yours.  I  hope  your  future 
life  may  never  more  be  clouded.  Adieu  ! 

"  CONSTANTLY" 

Within  a  year,  she  again  wrote  to  me,  as  follows : 

"  I  have  to  make  you  a  proposition  which  will 
surprise  you.  I  propose  to  return  to  you  as  your 
wife,  with  the  will  and  wish  to  fulfil  all  the  duties 
which  such  a  position  will  impose,  both  towards  my 
dear  children  and  towards  you.  I  have  reflected  much 
upon  the  evils  which  my  selfish  weaknesses  produce, 
and  hope  I  am  now  prepared  to  be  content  with  try 
ing  to  live  for  the  happiness  of  others.  I  do  not  wish 


A   UNION   THAT   IS   NOT   A   UNION.  279 

you  to  be  deceived ;  it  is  not  my  love  I  offer  you, 
—  you  know  that  is  not  a  thing  to  be  taken  off  and 
put  on  at  pleasure,  —  but  my  friendship,  which,  for 
the  future,  I  will  endeavor  to  manifest  towards  you, 
asking  you  only  to  forget  the  evils  of  our  past  life, 
and  rely  on  my  sincerity  as  your  security  for  my 
truth.  I  acknowledge  myself  a  selfish,  ill-tempered, 
obstinate,  and  wilful  woman, — bad  enough,  at  the 
best,  made  worse  by  seven  years  of  contrarieties, — 
and  you  know  all  the  risks  you  incur  in  taking  me 
back.  These  will  make  the  merit  of  accepting  me 
the  greater,  and  the  excuses  for  refusing  the  better. 
Reflect,  decide,  and  give  me  an  answer,  and  what 
ever  it  is  I  shall  be  silent.  CONSTANTIA." 

At  the  expiration  of  a  month,  I  replied  : 

"  If  only  our  happiness  were  at  stake,  I  should 
promptly  say  l  No '  to  your  proposition.  Why 
renew  an  experiment  which  for  so  many  years  has 
proved  a  continuous  failure  ?  Apart,  our  tastes  and 
affections  have  scope  for  their  free  exercise.  To 
gether,  they  constantly  clash ;  our  tempers  are  kept 
irritable  from  mutual  inability  to  do  or  be  what  we 
most  desire ;  even  our  cordial  friendships  separate 
us  still  further,  and  we  fail  to  live  up  to  the  meas 
ure  of  our  individualities.  But  when  you  speak  of 
children,  you  make  all  purely  personal  considerations 
secondary  to  their  welfare.  It  is  far  better  that 
they  should  have  our  joint  care  and  instruction 
under  one  roof,  with  the  appearance  of  harmony 
between  us,  than  to  be  temporarily  separated  from 
one  or  the  other,  and  subjected,  as  they  must  other- 


280  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

wise  be,  to  conflicting  ideas  and  emotions.  On  their 
account,  therefore,  taking  your  proposal  in  its 
strictest  literal  sense,  and  trusting  to  your  more 
experienced  views  of  life,  and  the  final  disappear 
ance  of  my  own  illusions,  I  say  '  Yes.'  You  will 
find  such  a  home  at  your  disposition  as  my  means 
and  character  permit,  as  soon  as  you  choose  to  avail 
yourself  of  it.  KATILAN." 

Constantia  joined  me  immediately.  For  her  sex, 
she  has  a  rare  merit,  and  that  is,  perfect  truthfulness. 
Some  characters  there  are  —  few,  alas! — who  will 
not  lie  under  any  temptation.  I  have  never  known 
another  wholly  like  hers  in  this  respect.  She  abso 
lutely  could  not.  The  socket-bones  of  life  would 
frequently  have  moved  with  more  ease  and  freedom 
within  each  other,  could  she  have  acquired  a  little 
amiable  tact  of  concealment,  or  occasionally  oiled  her 
temperament  with  assumed  sympathies.  Women 
ordinarily  clothe  themselves  with  an  atmosphere 
of  deceit,  generally  of  an  amiable  or  self-protective 
kind,  fearing  to  speak  out  their  natures  frankly  and 
fully,  and  by  tact,  flattery,  or  falsehood,  seek  to 
govern  the  men  on  whom  they  are  dependent. 
Nothing  of  this  existed  in  Constantia's  disposition. 
As  she  felt  she  acted,  —  often  from  superficial  and  mis 
taken  ideas  or  emotions,  but  always  in  unison  with 
what  she  thought  was  right.  What  she  did  not  feel 
she  was  unable  to  express.  Unlike  most  women, 
also,  she  had  no  purely  sexual  instinct,  but  in  its 
place  an  extraordinary  craving  for  or  reliance  upon 
cognate  mental  sympathies.  Her  innocence  was  so 


A   UNION   THAT   IS   NOT   A   UNION.  281 

absolute  that  she  sometimes  provoked  censure  by  a 
deportment  which,  unsuspicious  of  wrong  in  itself, 
acted  with  childlike  freedom  and  wilfulness,  while  its 
pure  instincts  served  to  protect  her  from  direct  harm. 

Having  thoroughly  learned  her  nature,  it  speedily 
became  more  tractable  to  me,  though  rarely  un 
selfish,  and  never  affectionate.  Dead  love  is  the 
heaviest  of  all  imponderable  substances.  When  once 
it  begins  to  sink,  it  goes  on,  never  finding  bottom. 
Constantia's  idea  of  duty  was  neither  enlarged  nor 
self-denying ;  but,  such  as  it  was,  she  was  faithful  to 
it.  With  us,  marriage  from  love  had  been  a  com 
plete  failure.  Every  hope,  sentiment,  or  feeling, 
embarked  in  it,  had  been  shipwrecked,  after  more 
than  common  efforts  to  safely  navigate  them  into 
their  longed-for  haven.  We  were  now  united 
solely  from  regard  to  responsibilities  voluntarily  in 
curred  towards  others.  This  principle  gradually 
developed  mutual  self-control  and  regard,  so  that 
her  promised  friendship  and  sincerity,  unsought  and 
unrestrained  on  my  part,  in  the  end  have  proved 
more  efficacious  for  domestic  harmony — mark,  not 
happiness — than  the  enthusiastic  but  untested  feel 
ings  with  which  we  first  became  husband  and  wife. 

I  now  view  marriage  more  as  a  lesson  preparatory 
to  a  higher  and  purer  development  of  character, 
than  as  in  itself  a  final  condition.  As  we  accept  its 
teachings,  so  we  rise  or  fall  in  the  moral  scale  of 
being.  True,  it  has  failed  to  confer  joy  on  me  ;  but 
it  has  taught  me  somewhat  to  know  myself,  and,  bet 
ter  than  all,  it  has  helped  to  point  out  the  celestial 
road.  God  be  thanked  for  its  sad,  severe  wisdom ! 
24* 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

MY   THEORY   OF   MY   HEART'S   IDEAL. 


HAS  it  not  often  happened,  my  readers,  that,  in 
seeing  a  face  for  the  first  time,  you  could  have 
sworn  you  had  seen  it  before,  so  familiar  did  it 
appear?  You  have,  indeed,  seen  it  before,  but 
simply  as  an  expression  of  your  intuitive  idea  of 
some  truth,  beauty,  or  emotion,  indelibly  impressed 
on  your  mind,  but  unrecognized  by  your  external 
senses,  until  they  surprise  you  with  a  visible  repre 
sentation  in  the  form  of  some  brother  or  sister 
accidentally  met  by  the  wayside.  Thus  Nature  im 
prints  her  facts  upon  flesh  and  blood ;  varying  their 
outer  forms  so  infinitely,  that  no  two  human  beings 
are  precisely  alike ;  yet  manifesting  so  plainly 
through  all  material  coverings  the  few  great  kindred 
principles  which  govern  all  souls,  that,  as  we  walk 
through  the  world,  we  are  constantly  recognizing  in 
strange  faces  the  counterparts  or  antipodes  of  our 
own  thoughts  and  feelings.  This  subtle  faculty  is 
the  foundation  of  true  perception  of  character, 
because  it  recognizes  the  inward  principle  as  the  real 
fact,  while  the  external  is  but  its  temporary  cover 
ing.  The  principle  that  attracts  and  repels  souls  is 


MY  THEORY  OF  MY   HEART'S  IDEAL.  283 

as  fixed  and  regular  as  the  law  that  holds  planets  to 
their  orbits,  and  regulates  the  flights  of  comets: 
but  the  moral  differs  from  the  physical  in  the 
respect  that  while  the  latter  is  controlled  by  a  force 
wholly  independent  of  itself,  the  former  is  gifted 
with  a  volition  of  its  own,  which,  influenced  by 
reason,  bestows  the  power  of  individual  choice  and 
action. 

Upon  a  superficial  glance,  there  would  seem  to  be 
somewhat  contradictory  between  the  idea  of  a  fixed 
moral  principle  and  the  self-agency  of  man.  But,  as 
this  principle,  like  that  of  gravitation,  implies  only 
a  certain  tendency  or  movement,  it  does  not  mili 
tate  against  the  varied  directions  and  forces  which 
other  principles  or  laws  may  combine  to  give  it. 
Drop  a  feather  and  stone  from  a  great  height,  and 
both  reach  the  earth,  though  at  widely  different 
intervals. 

Thoughts  or  feelings  having  for  each  other  a 
natural  affinity  always  tend  towards  union,  however 
distant  in  time  or  space,  or  separated  by  self-control 
or  circumstances,  may  be  their  personalities.  It  is 
not  necessary  to  see,  touch,  or  speak,  in  order  to 
love,  any  more  than  mathematical  demonstration  is 
requisite  for  faith.  Mind  and  heart  attract  their 
correlatives  throughout  the  wide  universe,  recog 
nizing  each  truth  and  passion  kindre,d  to  its  nature 
as  its  own,  whether  spoken  by  Socrates,  Christ, 
Shakspeare,  or  Swedenborg,  or  felt  by  a  Cleopatra, 
Ruth,  Mary,  or  Heloise. 

The  degree  in  which  another  nature  can  attract 
and  impress  our  own  depends  upon  the  adaptation 


284  HEAKT-EXPERIENCE. 

of  its  faculties  to  administer  to  our  complete  happi 
ness,  or  to  represent  the  ideal  of  our  thoughts  and 
desires.  When  young,  we  are  too  erratic  and  super 
ficial  in  mind,  and  too  deludable  by  our  untrained 
passions  and  sentiments,  to  attain  much  satisfaction 
in  this  respect.  My  own  early  years,  as  with  most 
others  that  I  have  known,  were  but  successive  dis 
appointments  of  head  and  heart,  when  viewed  in 
the  light  of  recent  experience.  But,  as  we  reach  a 
certain  distance  from  their  immediate  scenes  and 
effects,  the  horizon  all  round  grows  clearer.  From 
out  the  past,  wisdom  sheds  light  upon  the  future. 
Every  fresh  experience  becomes,  if  we  so  will  it,  a 
new  round  in  the  ladder  of  life,  planted  heaven 
ward. 

How  much  is  embraced  in  that  simple  word  — 
heaven !  God  is  undefinable.  Christ  has  been 
moulded  into  a  contradictory  dogma,  putting  faith 
and  reason  in  perpetual  conflict ;  but  heaven  com 
prehends  repose,  bliss,  divine  love,  and  infinite 
knowledge ;  purity,  peace,  and  harmony ;  all  that 
the  world  can  desire  of  good,  or  "each  soul  can  con 
ceive  to  be  its  particular  happiness,  exhaustless, 
progressive,  and  eternal.  Sweet,  very  sweet>  is  that 
word,  so  full  of  hope  and  consolation  to  all  sad 
hearts  ;  dearer  even  still  is  it  to  those  that  joyfully 
understand  its  promise,  patiently  and  trustingly 
abiding  its  realization  within  themselves,  as  each  act 
and  thought  hastens  the  coming  of  their  Messiah. 

Whatever  or  whoever,  be  it  success  or  sadness, 
pleasure  or  pain,  man,  woman,  or  child,  that  aids  in 
building  up  our  heaven,  is  truly  a  matter  for  self- 


MY  THEORY   OF   MY   HEART'S   IDEAL.  285 

congratulation.  Perhaps  we  never  advance  so  fast 
as  when  our  own  finite  wishes  are  most  thwarted. 
I  would  fain  believe  so,  judging  from  the  events  of 
my  own  life,  by  which  I  am  able  to  contrast  such 
satisfaction  as  I  have  derived  at  various  times  from 
the  accomplishment  of  objects  aimed  at,  with  the 
Divine  wisdom  slowly  developed  to  my  mind  through 
a  series  of  seeming  misfortunes  and  disappointments. 
Beside  those  already  narrated,  I  shall  confess  but 
one  other  experience  of  the  heart,  before  leaving 
what  may  be  termed  the  practical  and  passional 
phase  of  life,  and  proceeding  to  its  more  intellectual 
developments  of  art,  science,  and  religion. 


CHAPTER   XXXIY. 

I  FIND   MY  IDEAL,   AT   LAST. 

THERE  are  some  natures  so  largely  developed  and 
well  balanced  in  their  mental  faculties,  with  a 
physical  organization  correspondingly  refined,  sensi 
tive,  and  strong,  that  their  very  presence  operates 
as  a  magnetic  charm  upon  all  other  individualities, 
whether  able  or  not  to  appreciate  the  power  that 
attracts  or  subdues  them.  Unfortunately  for  our 
race,  such  superiority  is  extremely  rare ;  but,  once 
met,  no  one  fails  to  recognize  an  influence  above 
and  beyond  the  common  type  of  humanity.  Often 
the  possessors  of  this  mysterious  soul-force  are 
themselves  unconscious  of  their  mental  and  moral 
weight,  either  from  being  hedged  in  with  circum 
stances  that  keep  it  dormant,  or  from  the  deep 
humility  of  their  natures,  which  makes  them  turn  in 
dismay  from  a  power  that  awes  them,  simply  because 
they  have  felt  its  strength  and  responsibility  before 
understanding  fully  the  value  and  purpose  of  the 
Divine  gift.  If  you  have  come  in  contact,  0  man  ! 
but  once  in  your  life  with  one  such  complete  woman 
hood,  you  need  not  my  personal  description  to 
picture  to  your  mind  the  charms  of  body  and  spirit 


AT  LAST.  287 

which,  if  words  should  attempt  to  render,  would 
seem  to  the  uninitiated  rhapsody,  while  to  you  they 
at  best  would  be  but  lifeless. 

Think  not  that  such  natures  are  out  of  our  range 
of  humanity  by  being  less  subject  to  passions  and 
infirmities  than  ourselves.  On  the  contrary,  there 
is  a  depth  to  every  feeling  which  only  correspond 
ing  feeling  can  fathom,  and  a  susceptibility  and 
beauty  of  physical  temperament  adapted  to  the 
exquisite  sensibility  of  the  soul  which  it  enshrines. 
As  is  their  capacity  of  enjoyment,  so  is  their 
fulness  of  suffering.  To  rougher  natures,  associa 
tions,  sympathies,  love,  and  friendship,  are  but  the 
chances  of  time  —  transient  pleasures  or  pains,  easily 
forgotten  or  renewed ;  but  to  the  former  there  is  a 
delicate  fibre,  which  convulses  with  vengeful  force 
at  every  heart-pang  or  self-renunciation,  making  each 
moral  triumph  a  Waterloo  of  subdued  or  baffled 
desires. 

With  kindred  dispositions,  there  is  a  subtle  sus 
ceptibility,  that  the  slightest  cause  serves  to  magnet 
ize.  When  I  first  heard  pronounced  the  name  of 
the  woman  who  subsequently  restored  to  me  my 
ideal  of  her  sex,  by  a  display  of  attributes  which 
revealed  a  heaven  of  truth,  purity,  and  affection,  and 
once  more  put  me  in  harmony  with  the  last  and  best 
of  God's  creations,  simply  by  showing  how  beauti 
ful,  excellent,  and  wise,  she  may  be,  even  on  earth, 
I  experienced  a  strange  thrill ;  a  desire  to  meet  and 
know  that  intelligence,  though  we  were  separated  by 
an  ocean.  Yet  I  took  no  steps  to  effect  this.  With 
out  willing  or  seeking  it,  we  were  brought  together. 


288  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

As  she  first  met  me,  radiant  with  that  ineffable  and 
tender  beauty,  yet  strength  of  soul,  that  Raphael 
suggests  in  his  Madonnas ;  with  the  same  golden- 
hued  hair,  repose  of  countenance,  delicate  taper 
ing  of  limbs,  and  graceful  but  full  outline  of  body, 
and  a  voice  that  of  itself  portrayed  the  best 
virtues  of  her  sex,  so  low,  soft,  and  musical  was  it, 
—  she  said,  taking  both  my  hands  in  hers,  "  I  feel 
already  as  if  I  well  knew  you." 

She  did  know  me ;  she  knew  me  better  than  I  did 
myself.  All  that  was  best  and  worthiest  flowed  from 
me  in  her  presence,  as  freely  as  if  a  new  oracle 
spoke  within  me.  At  last,  I  had  realized  what  a 
true  woman  was ;  what  it  was  to  be  made,  man ; 
the  true  secret  of  morals,  as  Shelley  calls  perfect 
love ;  that  entire  going  out  of  our  own  being,  and 
identifying  ourselves  with  the  beautiful  in  thought, 
action,  and  person,  of  another ;  and  yet,  never  had 
my  own  individuality  been  more  complete  and 
active,  and,  I  can  truly  add,  more  thoroughly  alive, 
not  only  to  the  happiness  of  the  object  of  my 
passion,  but  of  all  persons.  When  Paul  first  saw 
celestial  light  he  became  blind;  afterwards,  the 
scales  fell  from  his  eyes,  and  he  beheld  sights  more 
glorious  than  even  an  inspired  tongue  could  utter. 
With  me  the  dawn  of  my  new  light  of  the  power 
and  worth  of  woman  was  from  the  first  glance  com 
plete.  It  was  what  my  soul  had  long  hungered  and 
thirsted  for.  This  may  appear  exaggeration.  But 
it  is  strictly  true.  New  capacities  and  realizations 
of  life  were  opened  within  me.  I  have  passion, 
perhaps,  more  than  common  ;  I  have  the  strongest 


AT   LAST.  289 

desire  to  realize  all  of  the  good  for  which  God  or 
dained  man  and  woman  to  dwell  together ;  I  had 
been  most  miserable  in  my  married  life,  from  its 
failure ;  yet  so  perfect  was  now  my  love,  and  so 
exalting  to  my  entire  nature,  that  I  not  only  wel 
comed  my  past  wretchedness  as  a  fit  moral  prepara 
tion  for  my  present  satisfaction,  but  confided  to 
Constantia  my  entire  feelings.  I  know  that  this 
step  was  very  weak  and  unnovel-like,  but  it  was  the 
impulse  of  sympathy  and  truth,  and  I  had  no  act  to 
conceal. 

Had  there  been  a  possibility  of  our  union,  per 
haps  I  should  have  been  restless  and  covetous.  But 

the  superiority  of 's  nature  was  so  manifest, 

each  thought,  impulse,  and  act,  so  genuine  and  con 
trolling,  that,  had  mere  passion  shown  itself  in  me, 
a  single  look  of  hers  would  have  instantly  sub 
dued  it.  I  gave  her  no  occasion. 

We  each  had  duties  to  others,  and  we  made  them 
the  law  of  our  lives.  I  have  no  exciting  scenes 
to  portray,  —  nothing  whereby  to  amaze  or  perplex. 
If,  reader,  you  cannot  entertain  the  idea  of  a  pas 
sionate,  all-filling  love  subduing  itself  to  duty,  and 
happy  in  the  sacrifice,  from  the  consciousness  of 
preferring  the  repose  of  soul-approbation  to  the 
transient  gratification  of  a  desire  even  for  social 
intercourse,  with  its  consequent  temptations,  I  des 
pair  of  persuading  you  of  the  truth  of  this  my  final 
confession.  As  soon  as  we  fully  realized  the 
strength  of  the  sympathies  that  united  us,  we 
parted.  She  gave  me  a  bunch  of  wild-flowers, 
gathered  by  herself,  as  I  bade  her  farewell.  Those 
25 


290  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

flowers  I  still  keep,  the  sole  relic  of  the  being  who 
revolutionized  my  heart.  It  still  beats  for  her  the 
same  as  when  we  separated,  each  with  a  smile  on 
our  lips,  and  a  deep-drawn  "  May  God  keep  you  ! " 
on  our  tongues.  We  do  not  even  correspond. 
Never  do  I  hear  of  her ;  yet  I  am  as  certain  of  the 
nobility  and  constancy  of  woman  as  I  am  of  God's 
sunlight.  It  is  sufficient  for  me  that  one  such  ex 
ists.  That  consciousness  inspires  me  with  the  idea 
of  infinite  happiness,  in  the  free  communion  of 
similar  souls,  when  God's  will  permits.  It  cannot 
be  on  earth ;  it  may  not  arrive  through  many  suc 
cessive  stages  of  existence;  but  it  will  be.  Till 
that  period,  patience  and  perseverance  in  right- 
doing  ! 

I  have  one  male  friend  who  inspires  me  with  a 
similar  faith  in  the  capacity  of  his  sex  for  perfect 
friendship  and  infinite  advancement.  With  two 
such  examples  of  humanity  before  me,  and  the 
capacity  to  appreciate  them,  how  can  I  do  other 
wise  than  confide  in  the  possibility,  through  God's 
providence,  of  the  ultimate  happiness  and  perfec 
tion  of  the  affections  of  my  own  soul? 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

VALEDICTORY  —  A   VISION? 

IT  was  the  evening  of  a  warm  summer's  day. 
Island  and  promontory  along  the  irregular  coast 
line  lay  silent  before  me  in  the  picturesque  shadow 
of  twilight,  gradually  growing  dimmer,  as  star  after 
star,  shooting  out  of  the  far-off  sky,  sent  quick,  suc 
cessive  rays  of  golden  light  earthward,  to  gladden 
the  late-coming  night,  and  weave  a  web  of  won 
drous  beauty,  wherewith  to  catch  the  tired  souls  of 
earth,  and  lift  them  for  a  while  tenderly  and  repos- 
ingly  heavenward.  Down,  down  below,  a  long  way 
down,  yet  shining  above  the  horizon1,  were  several 
of  man's  beacons  to  earthly  homes  and  shelter,  faith 
fully  sending  their  welcome  tidings  in  all  directions 
through  the  dark  shades  around.  Light-house  and 
star  on  like  missions,  but  how  widely  apart  their 
havens ! 

Hard  by,  spent  waves  lazily  swashed  over  half- 
sunken  rocks,  ugly  and  threatening,  cragged  and 
seaweed-mantled,  dripping  ceaselessly  salt  tears  from 
their  bleak  and  blear  sides,  the  sullen  breakers  the 
while  hoarsely  whispering  of  treacherous  shoals 
and  eddies,  and  engulfed  ships,  and  shore-tossed, 


292  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

shark-mangled  corpses;  fearful  wrecks,  in  which 
men's  lives  had  been  but  as  foam-bubbles,  a  moment 
struggling  on  the  deathly  wave-crest,  and  then  gone 
forever. 

Heaven  and  hell  were  before  me.  The  course  to 
either  was  then  but  the  difference  of  a  turn  of  a 
spoke  on  the  helmsman's  wheel ! 

The  breeze  gradually  died  out,  leaving  only  a 
faint  ripple  on  the  water  of  the  bay.  Cooled  by 
the  zephyr  airs  that  danced  lightly  over  cheek  and 
brow,  I  mused.  Its  fairy-like  touch  went  through 
skin  and  blood,  magnetizing  them  with  refreshing 
power,  direct  from  Nature's  own  breath,  into  my 
inmost  being,  soothing,  invigorating,  and  suggest 
ing  the  countless  beauties  and  infinitude  of  good 
gifts  of  the  Author  of  our  world.  Those  gentle 
touches,  then,  were  spirit-hands  rapping  with  kin 
dred  impulses  upon  the  windows  of  my  soul. 

From  musing,  I  dozed,  —  at  least,  I  think  I  did,  — 
and  saw  a  vision.  Was  it  spirit-life  ? 

Soon  my  old  acquaintance,  the  angel,  came.  Me- 
thought  I  had  gone  back  to  my  first  ideaship. 
There  was  no  mistaking  my  former  guardian.  This 
time  his  face  shone  with  curiosity,  mingled,  so  it 
seemed  to  me,  with  a  subdued  consciousness  of  ful 
filled  mischief. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  he,  "  my  inquisitive,  pestering 
little  idea  !  So  you  have  come  back,  at  last,  I  see  ! 
Glad  enough,  I  am  sure.  What  now?  Confess 
how  you  found  earth-life." 

"  Rather  a  strong  tonic,"  I  replied.  "  Good,  how 
ever,  if  you  know  how  to  take  it,  but  bad  if  an  over- 


VALEDICTORY— A   VISION?  293 

dose.  I  thank  you,  notwithstanding,  for  my 
chance." 

"  Indeed  !  So  you  do  not  wish  to  go  back  to  your 
old  nothinghood  ?  " 

"  By  no  means.  I  have  had  some  hard  rubs,  it  is 
true,  but  begin  to  feel  all  the  better  for  them.  If 
you  please,  I  will  keep  on." 

"  What,  if  I  do  not  please  ?  " 

"  I  will  then  please  myself." 

"I  see  that  earth-life  has  not  cured  your  pert- 
ness." 

"  Neither  has  it  wholly  satisfied  my  curiosity.  I 
am  determined  both  to  see  and  feel  it  through." 

"  Very  well,  then,  have  your  own  way." 

"  I  intend  to  go  my  own  way,  and  win  my  own 
destiny.  I  have  already  learned  enough  to  know- 
that  I  am  immortal,  and  that  the  universe  is  but  the 
workshop  of  each  individual  soul." 

"  We  will  not  anticipate  the  future.  I  shall  fore 
warn  you  of  nothing.  Live  and  learn.  But  what 
of  the  past?  I  must  catechize  my  vagrant  idea,  to 
see  if  his  time  has  been  well  employed." 

"  Begin,  then." 

"  How  did  you  find  your  womb-life  ?  " 

"At  first,  somewhat  precarious ;  afterwards,  safe 
and  pleasant." 

"And  babyhood?" 

"  With  such  a  mother,  nothing  could  be  more 
delightful." 

"  You  had  the  measles,  croup,  fever,  and  other 
touches  of  material  evils  ?  " 

"  I  got  the  better  of  them,  as  you  perceive.  They 
25* 


294  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

taught  me  the  mysteries  of  my  physical  being, 
opened  wider  to  me  the  heart  of  my  mother,  deep 
ened  my  own  affections,  and  I  am  content." 

"  You  broke  down  in  your  studies,  and  lost  your 
aim  in  life,  did  you  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  too  true.  I  dislike  unnecessary  words  ; 
so  I  will  confess  all  my  disasters  and  disappoint 
ments,  without  further  probing  on  your  part.  Lis 
ten  ! 

"  I  found  no  fatherly  wisdom  to  direct  me. 

"  I  lost  my  mother  as  soon  as  I  had  learned  fully 
to  appreciate  her. 

"  I  failed  in  health  and  eyesight. 

"  I  failed  in  an  education. 

"  I  failed  in  philanthropy. 

"  I  failed  in  fortune. 

"  I  failed  in  marriage. 

"  I  failed  in  love. 

"  I  failed  in  ambition. 

"  I  failed  in  being  l  understood  and  appreciated.' 

"  I  failed  in  friendship." 

"  Enough,  enough  !  "  broke  in  the  angel.  "  I  am 
sufficiently  bored  already  with  your  catalogue  of 
failures.  What  a  fine  experience  I  shall  have  to 
relate  to  my  celestial  compatriots !  They  have 
already  too  high  an  opinion  of  earth." 

"  Nay,  my  benevolent  guardian,  since  you  begun 
the  conversation,  you  must  hear  me  out." 

"  In  sjjort,  I  acknowledge  to  being  wrecked, 
snagged,  gagged,  cheated,  vexed,  diseased,  and 
driven  from  and  disappointed  in  every  thing  and 
every  pursuit  to  which  I  devoted  my  time  and 


VALEDICTORY— A   VISION?  295 

abilities,  and  in  every  one  to  whom  I  gave  my 
heart,  except  my  mother,  who  is  dead,  friends 
whom  I  never  see,  and  an  infant,  too  young  to 
know  or  feel  anything,  as  yet,  but  its  own  intuitive 
innocence,  sincerity,  purity,  and  spirit-conscious 
ness.  In  nothing  have  I  reached  even  my  own  finite 
standard.  You  find  me  isolated  amid  a  crowd  ;  a 
lonely,  taciturn  invalid  ;  an  author  without  an  audi 
ence  ;  a  man  without  a  profession  ;  a  husband  with 
out  a  wife  ;  a  lover  without  a  mistress  ;  a  son  without 
a  mother  ;  brotherless,  sisterless,  fortuneless  ;  ripe 
and  overflowing  with  social  emotions,  and  no  tan 
gible,  possible,  satisfactory  reciprocity. 

"  Every  pang  of  chagrined  feelings,  disappointed 
love,  and  tortured  affections  ;  of  loss  of  health, 
property,  social  position,  and  cherished  objects  in 
external  life  ;  of  falsehood  and  treachery,  and  of 
numberless  other  wounds,  have  I  undergone.  I  con 
fess  myself  a  human  failure  in  every  sense  but  one. 
Are  you  satisfied?  " 

"A  sad  picture  you  draw  of  life.  >Has  it  no  sun 
light?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  told  you  that  I  except  one  thing, 
which  is  a  compensation  for  all." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  MYSELF." 

"Explain  yourself.  If  life  have  proved  so  false 
and  thorny  to  you,  why  do  you  so  agree  with  it?  " 

"  Precisely  because  in  respect  to  my  inner  self  it 
has  not  proved  a  failure.  A  superficial  view  is  in 
deed  unsatisfactory ;  and,  if  I  now  clung  tenaciously 
to  the  objects  on  which  my  head  and  heart,  during 


296  HEART-EXPERIENCE. 

their  unsophisticated  state,  set  their  desires,  as  the 
sole  realities  of  existence,  I  should  indeed  of  all 
men  be  the  most  miserable.  But  I  do  not.  Most 
of  them  were  but  self  begotten  illusions.  The  best 
were  but  shadows  of  deeper,  more  distant,  but 
finally  realizable  truths,  —  truths  that  shall  event 
ually  fill  heart  and  mind,  and  expand  both  with 
ever-increasing  knowledge  and  happiness.  I  calmly 
repose  in  this  consciousness.  Neither  events  nor 
individuals  can  now  disturb  the  serenity  of  this 
faith.  I  may  not  at  present  grasp  the  coveted  ob 
ject  ;  but  its  ultimate  possession,  when  I  am  fully 
prepared  for  it,  will  as  surely  be  mine  as  that  God  is 
over  all  and  in  all.  With  this  assurance,  I  can  quietly 
wait.  In  the  mean  while  we  need  pangs,  woes,  and 
disappointments,  for  the  fruit  they  graft  on  our  char 
acters.  These  they  improve  and  ripen,  just  as  the 
gardener's  knife  stimulates  the  tree  to  greater  effort 
and  improved  product.  A  world  like  ours  without 
storm  or  shadow  would  speedily  become  vapid  and 
pointless.  Self-effort  elevates  and  prepares  us  for 
a  higher  life ;  whereas  selfish  possession  and  un- 
bitted  prosperity  corrupts,  weakens,  and  degrades. 
Give  me,  then,  the  discipline  which  best  promotes 
my  final  good.  God  sees  what  the  human  eye  can 
not.  Believing  in  the  wisdom  of  what  is,  I  regret 
nothing.  I  am  thankful  for  the  past.  I  am  hopeful 
for  the  future.  I  am  content  with  the  present." 

Here  I  awoke,  as  was  natural  after  so  long  a 
speech  ;  and,  what  was  equally  natural,  the  angel  had 
gone  to  sleep  in  my  stead,  and  disappeared.  I  could 
see  nothing  of  him. 


VALEDICTORY— A   VISION?  297 

The  stars  were  twinkling  lovingly  at  me,  and  the 
ocean-symphony,  as  it  fell  in  low  murmur  upon  my 
ears,  sounded,  "  It  is  all  true." 

"  Now,  do  tell  me,  is  it  all  true  that  you  have 
written?  Be  good,  for  once,  and  you  shall  have, 
what  I  know  you  want,  the  best  kiss  I  have  to 
give,"  said  an  inquisitive,  gentle,  and,  of  course, 
charming  being,  at  my  elbow. 

To  which  I  sententiously  replied,  as  I  do  to  you, 
my  reader,  "  To  him  or  her  that  believeth,  it  is  true  ; 
to  him  or  her  that  believeth  not,  it  is  not  true." 

FINIS  [IN  PART]. 


A  CODICIL. 


THE  DOCTRINE  AND   LESSON   OF  LIFE. 

PART    I.       INSTINCT WILL LOVE. 

"  Build  your  own  world.  As  you  conform  your  life  to  the  pure 
idea  in  your  mind,  that  will  unfold  its  greatest  proportions.  A  cor 
respondent  revolution  in  things  will  attend  the  influx  of  the  spirit." 

EMERSON. 

ANIMALS  have  unto  themselves  an  arbitrary  law 
called  instinct,  which,  in  obeying,  brings  to  them 
their  highest  good.  Their  use  in  the  economy  of 
nature  being  an  inferior  one,  she  has  provided  for 
their  guidance  this  self-principle,  which  is  at  once 
their  protection  and  their  happiness.  There  is  noth 
ing  in  their  organization  that  indicates  a  reference 
to  other  purpose  than  of  time  and  earth.  Even  the 
highest  evidence  of  their  instinctive  knowledge 
appertains  exclusively  to  transient  deeds. 

God  manifests  a  definite  design  in  every  particu 
lar  of  creation.  There  is,  to  my  mind,  no  law  more 
certain  than  that  hope  and  aspiration  are  the  fore 
runners  of  realization — the  seeds  planted  in  time,  to 
blossom  and  bear  fruit  throughout  eternity.  Ani 
mals  being  destitute  of  these  emotions,  it  is  plain 


300  THE  DOCTRINE  AND   LESSON   OF  LIFE. 

that  their  lives  have  no  functions  beyond  this  grosser 
plane  of  existence ;  while  man,  being  filled  with 
desires  which  cannot  find  full  scope  in  time,  and 
which  lie  within  him  like  unfledged  wings,  strug 
gling  to  escape  into  a  premature  flight,  shows  a 
nobler  and  far-reaching  design,  a  moral  organization 
born  of  God  and  of  necessity,  as  eternal  as  his 
spirit.  To  this  inward  light  and  testimony  there  is 
joined  a  motive-power  we  call  will.  This  is  left  free 
to  be  acted  upon  by  all  influences  which  go  to  form 
characters,  and  according  to  the  direction  it  takes 
so  man  shapes  his  destiny. 

Man,  therefore,  possessing  the  birthright  of  immor 
tality,  loses  or  defers  his  progress  heavenward,  and 
approaches  animal  existence,  in  the  degree  that  he 
barters  his  exalted  future  for  present  pottage.  If  he 
be  content  with  the  pleasures  and  capacities  of  his 
sensual  being,  they  are  accorded  to  him ;  but  with 
them  kindly  pains  and  disappointments,  to  warn  him 
that  there  is  a  wiser  choice.  The  enjoyments  of  sense 
perish  with  their  use.  A  more  bitter  hell  cannot 
exist  than  that  of  a  will  which  craves  animal  indulg 
ence,  or  the  exercise  of  selfish  passions,  without 
physical  sensibility  to  enjoy  the  one,  or  strength  to 
pursue  the  other.  True  happiness  depends  upon  the 
spirit's  condition.  As  the  soul  expands  in  goodness 
and  greatness,  so  does  its  subtle  power  for  joy 
permeate  the  body,  and  render  it  more  susceptible 
to  the  rightful  pleasures  of  its  organization.  At  the 
same  time  it  learns  to  triumph  over  disease  or  absti 
nence,  often  finding  in  either  the  key  that  tunes  the 
mind  to  sweeter  harmony. 


THE  DOCTRINE  AND   LESSON  OF  LIFE.  301 

Intellectual  power  differs  from  animal  instinct, 
inasmuch  as  the  latter  comes  into  being  as  perfect 
at  first  as  at  last ;  generations  neither  alter  nor  im 
prove  it.  Whether  animals  will  or  not  will,  they 
must  obey  their  governing  law.  Not  so  with  man. 
USE  is  his  law.  By  use  his  faculties  grow.  By  non- 
use  they  shrink.  Thus  he  is  a  progressive  being. 
He  never  sees  the  same  things  twice ;  or,  more  prop 
erly  speaking,  as  he  advances  or  retrogrades  things 
and  ideas  vary  their  proportions  and  positions  in 
relation  to  him.  Truth  is  measured  to  him  by  his 
capacity  to  receive  and  diligence  in  seeking  it.  In 
this  law  of  change  and  progression  lies  the  great 
hope  of  humanity.  The  power  that  gives  note  of  it, 
that  pulls  us  on,  the  restless  I,  by  its  consistent 
eccentricity  demonstrates  that  we  came  from  and  go 
to  the  great  I  AM.  Man's  motto- is,  I  Wish.  Noth 
ing  short  of  the  I  AM  of  infinite  perfection  will  stop 
his  career.  What  better  evidence  can  we  have  of 
our  destiny  than  this  eagerness  to  reach  and  com 
prehend  our  parentage  —  to  be  worthy  children  of 
the  Universal  Parent  ? 

Thank  God,  therefore,  0  man,  for  thy  aspirations  ! 
Thank  him  still  more  for  the  great  law  of  progres 
sion,  which,  making  sin  and  evil  self-destructive, 
draws  them,  as  they  accomplish  their  mission,  stead 
ily  towards  annihilation.  Thank  him  most  that  he  has 
made  thee  after  his  own  soul ;  that  nothing  thou 
desirest  in  his  spirit  shall  be  withheld ;  while  from 
all  nature  loving  truths  woo  thee  to  faith  and  hope. 
Death  itself  is  but  the  birth-throe  to  a  higher  life. 
The  holiest  life  —  that  which  embodies  sacrifice  of 
26 


302  THE   DOCTRINE   AND   LESSON   OP  LIFE. 

lower  for  higher  truths,  the  abnegation  of  selfish 
and  temporary  desire  for  the  future  and  universal 
good  —  is  the  wisest.  From  out  of  this  law,  as  honey 
of  old  came  from  the  carcass  of  the  lion,  cometh 
forth  sweetness.  Duty  is  its  strength.  In  our 
earthly  organization  this  implies  action.  —  to  do,  to 
deny,  to  suffer,  as  well  as  to  be,  to  have,  to  enjoy, — 
springing  from  the  constant  conflict  between  the 
temporary  and  the  eternal.  We  are  ever  admonished 
to  act  by  an  inward  voice,  which  is  the  echo  of 
divinity  within  our  hearts.  Hence  our  earthly 
career  is  marked  by  struggles  of  will  and  action, 
which  as  we  receive  them,  become  the  mile-stones 
to  note  our  life-progress  to  or  from  the  great  good. 
Hereafter,  when  our  progress  shall  merit  it,  so  glori 
ous  in  attributes  shall  be  our  spiritual  bodies,  that 
to  will,  will  be,  to  be.  Whatever  the  soul  shall  crave 
of  heavenly  good,  that  will  it  spontaneously  possess 
in  forms  of  purest  beauty,  springing  from  the  simple 
exercise  of  a  will  made  perfect.  Thus  we  shall  for- 
evermore  approach  that  being  who  wills,  and  it  Is. 

The  vital  spark  of  the  soul  is  its  love.  This 
truth  makes  martyrs.  Loyal  to  its  spirit-affections, 
it  welcomes  pain,  self-denial,  or  death,  rather  than 
forego  its  faith.  This  body,  with  all  its  curious 
apparatus  of  seductive  senses  or  shrinking  sensibil 
ities,  its  imperious  passions  or  ambitious  desires, — 
this  world,  with  all  its  varied  allurements  and  spirit- 
callousness, —  are  but  refuse  garments  in  view  of 
the  glorious  robes  faith  holds  up  to  the  view  of 
those  who  see  into  the  great  future.  The  sublim 
ity  of  physical  nature  awes  man  into  littleness, 


THE   DOCTRINE   AND   LESSON   OF   LIFE.  303 

because  it  contrasts  infinite  power  with  finite 
strength.  But  the  sublimity  of  self-devotion,  the 
election  of  future  good  above  present  gratification, 
lifts  man  towards  his  Maker ;  for  from  Him  comes  the 
inspiration  —  not  in  storm  or  lightning,  but  unseen, 
like  the  gentle  breath  of  heaven.  Whence  it  cometh 
and  whither  it  goeth,  it  giveth  no  sign  except  by  its 
fruits. 

Intellect  is  a  gift  that  requires  active  labor  to  per 
fect.  Man  is  to  cultivate  it  as  he  tills  the  earth,  by 
the  sweat  of  his  brow.  Its  reward  is  in  its  action. 
We  gather  knowledge  from  all  outward  agencies 
and  inward  feelings.  In  this  pursuit  man  is  the 
executive  power.  With  moral  inspiration  it  is  differ 
ent.  That  is  an  inward  gift,  flowing  from  the  source 
of  all  purity.  The  most  that  man  can  do  is  to  train 
his  heart  to  receive  it.  Through  a  virtuous  will  light 
enters  his  soul  with  ever-brightening  rays.  Logic 
will  not  command  it,  nor  reason  create  it.  To  sin 
cere  and  dutiful  minds  solely  does  it  come — the  chil 
dren  who  know  their  Father,  and  claim  him,  and  not 
to  those  who  seek  him  not,  for  he  forces  not  him 
self  upon  unwilling  hearts.  This  moral  power  is  the 
source  of  all  that  is  noblest  in  humanity.  It  is  the 
vital  principle  of  the  patriot  and  statesman,  the  art 
ist  and  the  mechanic,  the  author  and  the  laborer,  the 
woman  who  believes  and  obeys,  and  the  man  who 
believes  and  acts — of  all  in  whom  are  earnest,  truth- 
seeking  souls.  Be  their  creeds  or  tongues  what 
they  may,  this  unites  them  under  one  common 
humanity,  and  makes  of  mankind  universal  brother 
hood.  It  is  a  bond  which  artificial  distinctions  have 


304  THE   DOCTRINE   AND   LESSON   OF   LIFE. 

had  no  power  to  sever.  The  human  race  hails  the 
advent  of  each  NEW  man  as  a  fresh  Adam  —  a  step 
and  prophecy  to  aid  the  race  towards  its  future.  It 
is  slow  at  first  to  perceive  its  benefactors,  but  sooner 
or  later  recognizes,  through  its  own  soul-wants,  the 
talents  confided  in  trust  to  a  fellow-man  for  the 
general  good. 


THE  DOCTRINE  AND  LESSON   OF  LIFE. 

PART    II.       MARRIAGE DIVORCE  —  REFORM. 

**  Man  is  all  symmetry, 

Full  of  proportions,  one  link  to  another, 
And  to  all  the  world  besides. 

Each  part  may  call  the  farthest  brother  ; 
For  head  with  foot  hath  private  amity 

And  both  with  moons  and  tides." 
****** 
"  More  servants  wait  on  man 

Then  he  '11  take  notice  of.     In  every  path 
He  treads  down  that  which  befriends  him 

When  sickness  makes  him  pale  and  wan. 
0,  mighty  love  !     Man  is  one  world,  and  hath 

Another  to  attend  him."  GEOKGE  HERBERT. 

THROUGHOUT  the  physical  world  we  find  a  general 
law  bringing  together  detached  parts  by  a  principle 
we  call  attraction.  The  moral  world  displays  the 
same  action,  by  the  force  of  sympathy.  Both  result 
from  a  universal  law  of  marriage,  based  on  affinities, 
by  which  all  matter  and  life  are  instinctively  drawn 
towards  their  likes  or  loves,  by  the  influence  of  har- 


THE  DOCTRINE  AND   LESSON   OF  LIFE.  305 

mony.  Nature,  through  her  lower  creatures,  so  reg 
ulates  their  action  by  imperative  instincts  that  they 
impulsively  fulfil  her  laws.  Consequently,  in  the 
mineral,  vegetable  and  animal  world,  marriage  obeys 
by  inward  compulsion  the  great  Will. 

Not  so  with  man.  Endowed  with  loftier  faculties, 
he  has  been  gifted  with  a  will  of  his  own,  by  which 
to  make  his  election  in  the  wide  compass  of  objects 
and  desires.  To  each  emotion  has  been  accorded 
its  correspondence,  and  to  every  desire  its  natural 
fulfilment ;  the  degree  of  satisfaction  in  all  of  which 
depends  upon  their  relative  positions  in  the  scale  of 
moral  harmony.  Spiritual  affinities  are  as  exact  and 
forcible  as  are  the  physical ;  only,  from  their  greater 
subtlety  of  action,  and  the  disturbing  power  of 
human  will,  which  selects  its  loves  in  accordance 
with  its  plane  of  desire,  and  often  with  reference 
only  to  the  selfish  and  transitory,  they  are  the  less 
understood.  But,  if  the  will  be  so  trained  as  to 
exert  itself  only  in  the  degree  that  each  object  or 
emotion  is  capable  of  adding  to  happiness  by  its 
legitimate  use  or  moral  qualification,  we  should 
keep  in  harmony  with  the  outer  and  inner  worlds, 
and  save  ourselves  the  often  repeated  search  for 
ripe  figs  on  the  barren  tree. 

First,  know  what  we  want ;  then,  how  and  where 
to  look  for  it ;  expect  no  more  of  its  possession 
than  it  is  qualified  to'bestow;  cherish  it  solely  for 
its  own  worth,  and  not  for  what  nature,  in  withhold 
ing  from  one  object,  gave  to  another ;  and,  above  all, 
prepare  the  mind  to  receive  its  good,  and  reject  its 
evil.  Without  the  latter,  the  former  would  not  be. 
26* 


306  THE  DOCTRINE  AND   LESSON  OP  LIFE. 

Without  intellect  to  discern  and  will  to  choose,  we 
should  have  no  characters,  but  be  as  low  in  the  scale 
of  creation  as  the  quadrupeds,  or  even  the  mollusca. 
Therefore,  think  not  so  despondingly  of  evil,  0 
man  !  It  is  the  fiery  ordeal  through  which  you  must 
pass  to  reach  your  heavenly  heritage.  Evil  —  mark  ! 
not  sin  —  results  from  the  imperfect  or  vicious  use 
of  good.  It  is  the  second-born  of  Law.  Whether 
through  choice  or  ignorance,  man  is  responsible  for 
it,  or  is  its  victim.  God,  in  permitting  evil,  displays 
no  less  his  wisdom  than  in  the  good  with  which  he 
rewards  the  conquering  soul.  Without  both  there 
would  be  no  individuality  ;  no  soul-existence.  They 
are  man's  training  spirits.  Reason  is  the  drip-stone 
through  which  all  knowledge  must  pass.  If  reason 
be  impure  itself  by  cause  of  a  foul  will,  the  streams 
that  flow  through  it  will  partake  of  its  foulness. 
Hence  the  importance  of  directing  the  desires  only 
towards  pure  and  refined  sources  of  improvement. 
As  we  cultivate  a  love  for  truth,  purity,  and  charity  ; 
the  benevolence  that  prefers,  another  to  ourselves ; 
the  knowledge  that  seeks  to  know  the  laws  that 
connect  man  with  the  material  world  and  their  com 
mon  Maker, — so  shall  we  be  filled  with  the  responsive 
sympathy  of  the  good  angels  that  guard  these 
treasures,  and  the  Will,  of  its  own  desire,  will  go 
forth  to  welcome  them. 

Sympathy  being  the  subtle  principle  which  unites 
hearts  or  minds,  it  follows  that  as  in  the  beginning 
it  was  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone,  so  it  is  the 
same  now.  His  desires  must  have  their  objects. 
Friendship  is  but  partial  sympathy.  Its  degree  is 


THE   DOCTRINE   AND   LESSON   OF   LIFE.  307 

according  to  the  tastes  and  affections  gratified. 
The  basis  is  moral  or  mental  appreciation.  It  is 
inferior  to  love,  because  not  the  total  of  sympathy. 
Love  is  complete  sympathy.  I  speak  of  perfect 
love,  by  which  the  passions,  sentiments,  and 
thoughts  of  one  human  being,  bear  such  a  fitness 
towards  those  of  another,  that,  when  brought  within 
mutual  influence,  they  run  together  as  naturally  as 
two  drops  of  water  placed  within  their  sphere  of 
physical  attraction. 

Similarity  in  sex  is  essential  to  perfect  friendship ; 
dissimilarity,  to  love.  Between  opposite  sexes, 
friendship  is  always  endangered  by  love  in  the 
proportion  that  it  absorbs  all  the  faculties.  Hence 
it  is  that  platonic  love  is  universally  viewed  as  a 
feint  or  sarcasm.  Nature  does  not  acknowledge  it. 
Men  and  women  apart  are  imperfect  beings  ;  severed 
halves  of  an  intended  whole.  Passions,  sentiments, 
and  reason,  alike  point  to  a  union  as  an  instinct  of 
self-preservation.  This  begets  marriage. 

I  believe  more  misery,  deceit,  and  crime,  are  be 
gotten  of  this  relation,  intended,  as  it  is,  for  mutual 
happiness,  than  from  any  other  one  cause.  Yet 
marriage  must  be.  Nature,  as  a  whole,  allows  no 
exemptions.  Witness  the  slave-wife  of  the  savage, 
with  her  burden  upon  her  back,  and  her  infant  at 
her  breast;  the  sensual  wife  of  the  Mussulman, 
bred  and  fattened  as  caged  lust;  the  brutish  form 
and  brute-worked  wife  of  the  peasantry  of  much 
of  Europe  —  cow  and  wife  under  the  same  yoke ; 
in  fine,  the  animal  wife  of  every  grade,  up  to 
the  civilized  woman,  the  equal  in  cultivation  and 


308  THE   DOCTRINE   AND    LESSON   OF   LIFE. 

the  superior  in  virtue  of  the  man  of  society,  who 
too  often  is  but  a  refined  tyrant.  Has  marriage  to  all 
of  these  filled  their  measure  of  tenderness,  sympathy, 
and  love  ?  Has  it  not  more  often  mocked  them  with 
a  stone,  instead  of  giving  them  the  bread  of  life  ? 

Whence  your  discontent,  ye  disappointed  of  both 
sexes  ?  Whence  your  inward  repinings,  and  out 
ward  protests ;  the  deathly  calm  of  a  benumbed 
mind,  or  the  frantic  defiance  of  worldly  morality  ? 
Have  riches  no  power  to  soothe  a  wounded  spirit? 
Cannot  children  heal  a  broken  heart?  Have  not 
honors,  station,  and  friends ;  the  gratification  of 
every  external  want,  of  every  selfish  desire, — pride, 
vanity,  novelty;  the  culture  of  the  intellect,  the 
call  of  ambition,  the  rush  and  whirl  of  the  world, 
or  the  solitude  of  despair,  —  have  not  these  the 
power  to  quench  your  sorrows,  or  cheat  your 
misery?  If  for  any  of  them  you  bartered  your 
bodies  into  a  slavery  that  wilts  the  spirit,  have  you 
not  been  paid  the  full  forfeit  of  the  bond?  But 
there  is  a  sword  that  ever  pierces ;  whose  keen 
edge  never  ceases  to  cut  the  heart's  strings.  The 
wronged  and  the  wronger  alike  feel  it ;  for  their 
union,  instead  of  producing  happiness,  jars  upon  the 
nerves  of  each  as  the  shrieking  discord  of  the  set- 
saw  upon  the  sensitive  ear.  The  more  poignant 
the  misery,  the  stronger  man  knots  the  tie,  and  in 
his  blasphemy  says,  "  God  wills  it." 

This  is  false.  God  wills  union,  but  not  disunion. 
Printed  laws  or  priest-spoken  words  do  not  make 
marriage.  They  are  the  external  language  by 
which  man  records  the  act.  But  true  marriages 


THE   DOCTRINE   AND    LESSON   OF   LIFE.  309 

springs  from  within,  and  are  blessed  only  in  the 
degree  of  the  purity  and  completeness  with  which 
the  entire  natures  of  both  sexes  mingle.  That  there 
are  few  such,  is,  alas  !  too  true  ;  the  world  may  lie, 
but  hearts  declare  it.  Count,  readers,  the  truly 
happy  unions  known  to  each  of  you.  Can  you  even 
name  the  number  that  would  have  saved  Sodom? 
Confess  the  contrary.  Number  the  hearts  that 
bleed  beneath  this  bondage,  rinding  relief  either 
in  freezing  their  affections,  or  else  letting  them 
roam,  like  the  cruiser  on  the  open  sea,  in  quest  of 
prizes.  What  think  you  now  ? 

As  I  have  before  said,  evil  is  self-destructive,  while 
good  is  self-expansive.  The  instinct  of  marriage 
forces  man  into  its  vortex,  and  equally  forces  him  to 
escape.  He  finds  not  what  he  seeks,  and  demands 
why.  Civilized  man  is  not  contented  with  merely 
legal  marriage.  It  were  safer,  perhaps,  to  whisper 
this  than  to  speak  it  aloud.  But  it  is  the  truth,  and 
the  remedy  can  be  found  only  by  meeting  it  in  its 
full  significance.  The  savage  or  semi-barbarian,  who 
wants  a  slave  or  sensualist,  finds  what  he  wants; 
but  the  cultivated  classes  of  both  sexes  in  Europe 
and  America  are  growing  yearly  more  dissatisfied 
with  the  present  phase  of  marriage.  The  European, 
without  freedom  to  speak  in  opposition  to  his 
church,  thinks  in  silence,  but  acts  openly.  He  obeys 
the  letter  of  the  marriage,  while  he  contravenes  its 
spirit.  The  social  license  that  obtains  throughout 
most  of  Europe  attests  the  strength  of  the  revolt 
against  that  dogmatic  tyranny  which  admits  of  no 
reform. 


310  THE  DOCTRINE  AND  LESSON  OP  LIFE. 

In  America,  numerous  divorces,  treatises,  social 
experiments,  and  a  loose  and  fluctuating  legislation, 
attempting  to  reconcile  individual  freedom  with 
public  morality,  show  how  deeply  the  subject 
occupies  the  public  attention.  Investigation  and 
action  on  all  topics  connected  with  the  welfare  and 
progress  of  the  human  race  are  the  rules  of  the 
New  World.  If  an  evil  appear,  it  hesitates  not  to 
probe  the  cause.  Is  it  better  to  confess  and  strive 
to  amend  the  institution,  as  in  America ;  or  to  assert 
its  God-derived  perfection,  as  in  Europe,  and  live  in 
the  vice  which  is  its  worst  foe  ? 

The  great  fact  of  connubial  discord  being  admit 
ted,  the  next  step  is  to  seek- the  cause  and  remedy. 
Society  and  progress  depend  upon  marriage.  With 
the  less  advanced  races,  unions  are  founded  on 
physical  necessities  or  mutual  convenience.  Both 
their  results  are  easily  attained ;  and  as  long  as  the 
spirit-nature  is  undeveloped  no  discontent  will 
ensue,  for  there  is  no  aspiration  towards  a  higher 
condition.  Affections  and  passions  growing  out  of 
merely  earthly  relationship  are  readily  satisfied ;  but 
when  the  spirit  begins  to  assert  its  affinity  to  divine 
nature,  it  then  claims  its  right  to  seek  those 
sympathies  that  shall  best  help  it  onward. 

The  lower  the  principle  on  which  marriage  is 
based,  the  more  jealous  become  its  advocates. 
They  would  claim  property  in  the  soul,  as  they  do 
in  the  body.  We  will  admit,  as  their  undoubted 
right,  the  physical  chastity  they  rate  so  highly. 
But  can  they  chain  the  heart?  Decrees  and  com 
mands  are  futile  to  bind  the  spirit.  So  is  even  one 


THE  DOCTRINE  AND  LESSON  OF  LIFE.     311 

affection  to  bind  another,  unless  it  responds  with 
equal  force.  Is  it,  then,  a  mortal  sin,  in  a  husband, 
wife,  and  friend,  not  to  love  solely  and  totally  the 
object  of  their  legal  tie  or  choice  ?  Can  they  do  so 
from  will,  or  sense  of  duty?  Every  heart  replies,  it 
can  neither  be  bound  nor  forced.  Yet  short-sighted 
jealousy  has  ever  asserted  its  despotism,  as  well 
over  the  affections  as  their  frame.  But  it  has  ever 
been  met  with  uncompromising  resistance,  too  often 
degenerating  into  wantonness,  but  under  all  circum 
stances  asserting  the  self-agency,  if  not  the  dignity, 
of  the  individual  soul.  In  intellectual  power  woman 
ig  man's  inferior,  but  in  refinement  and  moral  appre 
ciation  his  superior.  As  a  friend,  wife,  or  mother, 
he  owes  her  a  debt  that  a  self-abnegating  devotion 
equal  to  her  own,  alone  can  repay.  Will  he  chain  her 
more  spiritual  mind  forever  to  the  standard  of  his 
own  material  or  rationalistic  growth  ?  His  laws  and 
actions  say  so.  But  he  might  as  well  seek  to  cage 
the  wind.  The  spirit  goeth  where  it  listeth;  so 
spake  the  Son  of  God.  \ 

As  the  physical  body  gathers  its  food  from  out 
of  the  elements  of  earth,  air,  and  water,  so  the  spirit 
seeks  its  appropriate  nourishment  from  the  bound 
less  variety  of  sympathies  nature  and  mind  offer. 
Those  who  love  must  advance  equally  together  in 
all  points  of  spiritual  growth,  if  they  would  continue 
soul-wedded.  If  their  capacities  and  affinities  indi 
cate  their  positive  relationship,  they  will  do  so  now 
and  forever,  in  closer  and  more  perfect  union.  But, 
if  the  contrary,  they  must  separate  in  minds  and 
affections,  by  a  law  more  cogent  than  human  enact- 


312  THE   DOCTRINE   AND   LESSON   OF   LIFE. 

ments  or  selfish  interests.  The  stronger  or  purer  will 
value  the  weaker  or  grosser  at  its  own  worth,  and 
no  more.  As  well  might  the  owl  say  to  the  eagle, 
"  You  shall  not  fly  towards  the  sun,"  as  the  inferior 
nature  say  to  the  superior,  "  Live  always  in  the  dark 
with  me." 

This  would-be  exile  of  the  spirit  from  its  rightful 
element  is,  alas  !  common  among  many  who  claim  to 
love.  Well  may  the  afflicted  shrink  from  such  testi 
mony.  It  is  not  love,  but  selfish  fear  —  fear  that 
would  bring  ruin  to  another  to  hide  its  own  abase 
ment.  True  love  speaks  out,  without  fear,  and  says 
to  the  spirit,  "  Go  forth  into  all  quarters  of  the 
globe ;  soar  over  creation,  mount  to  heaven,  probe 
every  human  heart,  draw  angels  down  to  thine, 
gather  from  all,  love  and  wisdom.  Go  in  God's  name. 
If  I  can  keep  thee  company,  we  will  rejoice  together; 
if  thou  mountest  faster,  God  speed  thee ;  we  each 
in  our  appointed  time  shall  reach  our  heaven,  and  be 
at  rest,  There  are  many  mansions  prepared  by 
Christ  for  those  who  live  in  his  love." 

Marriage  is  necessarily  two-fold :  the  external  or 
material,  and  the  internal  or  spiritual  union.  Happi 
ness  results  in  the  degree  that  these  accord.  It  is 
difficult  to  define  their  interaction,  or  where  the  two 
meet;  though  the  results  of  the  predominance  of 
either,  so  that  the  harmonious  balance  is  lost,  are  not 
to  be  mistaken.  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say,  however, 
that  there  are  more  virtues,  happiness,  and  welfare,  be 
gotten  of  marriage,  than  of  any  other  human  institu 
tion,  paradoxical  as  this  may  appear  in  contrast  with 
my  first  assertion.  But,  viewing  evil  as  the  imperfect 


THE   DOCTRINE    AND    LESSON    OF   LIFE.  313 

or  vicious  use  of  good,  it  follows  that  that  which  is 
most  prolific  of  the  one  must  also  be  relatively 
pregnant  with  the  other.  Property-  begets  theft ; 
without  a  desire  to  steal,  there  would  be  no  conscious 
honesty.  Virtue  is  bom  of  temptation.  From  faith 
comes  infidelity  ;  without  belief,  there  could  be  no 
doubt;  without  doubt,  neither  questioning  nor 
progress,  nor  should  we  know  the  value  of  faith. 
Hope  itself  is  based  upon  the  consciousness  of 
uncertainty.  The  very  parsimony  of  the  natural 
world  in  cold  climates,  and  its  excessive  prolificness 
in  warm  regions,  are  favorable  to  man,  by  forcing  him 
to  industry :  for  that  which  is  spontaneous,  safe,  or 
easy,  is  but  lightly  prized.  So,  between  good  and 
evil  there  is  an  intimate  relation  for  the  development 
of  the  moral  being  in  correspondence  with  those 
agencies  of  the  physical  world  which  bring  to  man 
pleasure  and  pain,  to  teach  him  the  correct  use  of 
his  material  powers.  *  All  nature  is  a  system  of 
checks  and  balances,  of  rewards  and  punishments, 
progressively  developing  humanity.1  Man  is  the 
earthly  climax  towards  whose  welfare  all  else  is 
subservient.  Heaven  contributes  its  wisdom  to  open 
to  him  a  horizon  of  growth  as  limitless  as  eternity. 
The  experiences  and  laws  of  earth  are,  if  he  will, 
the  germs  of  a  new  life,  the  joys  of  which  mortal 
thought  cannot  conceive,  nor  tongue  express. 

I  conceive  marriage  to  be  the  most  important  of 
his  preparatory  experiences,  as  not  only  comprising 
the  discipline  of  all  his  faculties,  but  as  being  typi 
cal  of  his  future  destiny  in  his  final  union  to  the 
highest  good.  Hence  it  is  important  to  rightly 


314  THE   DOCTRINE   AND    LESSON   OF   LIFE. 

understand  its  principles.  The  external  marriage 
has  relation  to  the  wants  of  material  life  — children, 
society,  property,  and  the  state ;  the  internal  mar 
riage  relates  to  spiritual  life  —  the  affections,  sympa 
thies,  affinities  of  thought  and  feeling,  —  all  those 
intangible  but  deathless  ties  that  bind  souls  into 
unity.  Self-interest  is  the  connecting  link  of  the 
first ;  self-sacrifice,  of  the  last.  The  more  the  former 
accumulates,  the  more  jealous  it  becomes  ;  the  more 
the  latter  gives,  the  more  it  desires  to  bestow,  find 
ing  its  highest  happiness  in  another's,  each  soul 
reacting  upon  the  other  in  perpetual  variety  and 
increase,  till  all  nature  administers  to  their  joy. 

The  secret  of  connubial  happiness  lies  in  connect 
ing  the  former  —  presupposing  favorable  physical 
conditions,  for  affinities  of  temperaments  are  all- 
important —  with  the  intertwining  affections  of  the 
latter.  The  few  that  succeed  in  this  find  a  joy  so 
complete  that  to  the  sceptical  it  seems  delusive,  and 
to  the  hopeful  a  beacon  of  eternity  planted  on  the 
shores  of  time  to  light  them  through  its  shoals. 

But  I  would  speak  to  the  vast  multitude  of  the 
discontented,  —  so  vast  that  no  man  can  number 
them,  —  that  find  in  matrimony  only  a  lesser  social 
evil  than  being  single ;  to  that  smaller  yet  numer 
ous  body,  who,  by  divorces,  associations,  and  denun 
ciations,  by  the  abandonment  of  homes,  the  preach 
ings  of  free-love,  or  the  practice  of  libertinage,  protest 
against  their  bondage,  or  seek  a  remedy  from  out  of 
the  very  causes  of  their  disappointments  ;  those  who 
from  legal  rush  into  illegal  vice;  those  who  cry 
aloud  in  their  slavery ;  those  patient  ones,  too,  whose 


THE   DOCTRINE   AND   LESSON   OF   LIFE.  315 

silent  wail  of  wronged  selfhood,  though  unheard 
on  earth,  reaches  heaven;  and,  above  all,  those  minds 
that  feel  for  others  in  their  own  wrongs,  and  in 
sincerity  and  earnestness  inquire  the  remedy ;  —  to 
all  such  I  would  ask  to  suggest  a  thought  which  may 
aid  them  either  to  bear  in  hope  or  act  with  right 
judgment. 

The  two  extremes  of  Reform  advocated  by  the 
ultraists  of  each  view  meet  in  practice.  That  is, 
the  externalists  seek  a  remedy  in  physical  variety 
for  the  satiety  of  a  single  passion ;  while  the  inter 
nalists,  in  claiming  equal  freedom  for  the  spirit,  arrive 
at  virtually  the  same  result.  The  former  live  only 
in  the  body ;  and  the  latter,  forgetting  that  earth-life 
implies  physical  bondage,  in  striving  to  escape  it, 
fall  into  the  same  error.  Both  are  wrong.  God  has 
wedded  flesh  and  soul  in  this  life,  and  no  man  may 
put  them  asunder.  While  on  the  earth,  we  must 
live  in  compliance  with  its  laws,  which  allow  full 
scope  for  moral  agencies.  In  no  way  can  we  better 
prepare  ourselves  for  the  future  than  by  the  im 
provement  of  the  present.  Those  who  disturb  the 
just  balance  of  soul  and  body,  either  by  living  in 
idle  ecstasy  or  sensual  indulgence,  are  equally 
mistaken.  In  proportion  as  soul  or  body  obtains  an 
isolated  ascendency,  in  that  degree  the  object  of 
their  union  is  defeated,  and  either  moral  or  physical 
death  must  ensue.  There  is  undoubtedly  an  earth- 
period  fixed  by  a  general  law  for  each  condition  of 
human  life.  It  is  wiser,  therefore,  that  all  individ 
uals  fulfil  their  allotted  time,  striving  faithfully 
to  execute  their  mixed  mission.  Spirit  cannot  exist 


316  THE  DOCTRINE   AND   LESSON   OF   LIFE. 

in  this  sphere  apart  from  body.  As  soon  as  the 
latter  becomes  too  coarse  or  feeble  to  be  the  partner 
of  the  former,  it  departs  for  a  more  congenial  home. 
Life  is  necessarily  objective.  Death  is  the  agent  of  a 
benevolent  law,  which  benefits  man  by  releasing  him 
from  the  lesser  to  the  wider  sphere  of  progress. 
In  its  natural  course  it  is  no  bugbear,  but  a  friend. 
Confide  in  it,  and  its  apparent  evil  resolves  itself 
into  general  good ;  the  temporary  gives  way  to  the 
eternal. 

Mistaken  marriages  can  be  made  self-corrective, 
not  so  much  in  relation  to  present  as  to  future 
happiness.  External  force,  or  the  machinery  of 
reform  moving  by  masses  through  vulgar  propagan- 
dism;  will  not  effect  this  object,  The  evil  comes 
from  within,  and  must  be  met  from  within.  The 
kingdom  to  be  won  is  not  of  this  world,  though  the 
victory  is  over  it.  As  self-knowledge  improves,  so 
will  marriage  better  answer  its  intent.  All  reform 
must  be  individual.  Out  of  the  issues  of  each  heart 
comes  the  general  good  or  evil.  Let,  then,  each  one 
therefore  strive  to  meet  the  moral  want  of  his  age  in 
himself,  and  his  neighbor  will  grow  better  in  spite  of 
himself.  Each  man  has  but  one  soul  to  save,  but  so 
linked  is  he  in  the  economy  of  nature  that  he  can 
not  exalt  himself  without  exalting  another.  So,  in 
sinning,  our  atmosphere  taints  our  neighbors'.  Man 
kind  do  not  voluntarily  choose  evil.  They  arrive  at 
it  in  their  misguided  pursuit  of  good,  deceived  by 
selfish  passions,  and  voluntary  or  involuntary  igno 
rance.  The  responsibility  is,  however,  none  the  less 
theirs,  and  no  one  ever  escapes  the  consequences 


THE  DOCTRINE   AND   LESSON   OF  LIFE.  317 

of  any  act  or  motive,  whether  good  or  bad.  Divine 
law  is  inflexible.  Man  can  no  more  break  a  law  of 
God  than  he  can  create  a  soul.  He  can  substitute 
a  lesser  law  for  a  greater,  an  inferior  for  a  superior 
principle.  But  to  kill  is  as  much  by  the  permission 
of  God  as  to  pray.  It  is  the  use  of  the  law  accord 
ing  to  his  free-will  which  makes  man  more  or  less  a 
sinner.  Neither  is  there  any  forgiveness  of  sins. 
Each  act  and  thought1  is  as  unvariable  in  its  appro 
priate  results  as  that  the  fruits  of  summer  succeed 
the  blossoms  of  spring,  or  that  the  frost  nips  the 
bud.  We  must  all  bear  our  own  sins,  and  in  some 
degree  our  neighbors'  also ;  because,  being  linked 
together  in  true  or  false  interests,  whatever  of  good 
or  evil  affects  one  extends  an  influence  through 
out  all. 

How  can  marriage  be  made  self-corrective  ?  In 
the  first  place,  by  not  vainly  combating  the  tie. 
Bound  to  earth  by  physical  laws,  knowing  moral 
action  only  through  physical  agencies,  —  in  short, 
conceiving  of  nothing  that  acts  or  thinks  except  in 
shape  and  body,  —  we  must  reconcile  ourselves  to 
our  captivity,  and  in  receiving  enjoyment  from  our 
material  nature  be  reconciled  to  obedience  to  its 
laws.  Man  voluntarily  selects  his  wife,  with  his 
instincts  and  knowledge  to  guide,  added  to  hers  to 
reject  or  approve.  An  external  ceremony  conse 
crates  the  act,  and  is  its  public  symbol.  The  virtual 
abolition  of  ceremony,  aiming  at  greater  latitude 
of  sexual  intercourse,  will  not  make  marriage  more 
fruitful  in  harmony.  On  the  contrary,  the  disruption 
of  external  ties,  the  frequent  breakings  up  and 
27* 


318  THE   DOCTRINE    AND    LESSON    OF   LIFE. 

reforming  of  family  circles,,  the  renewal  of  passion 
by  the  edge  of  variety,  the  anarchy  among  children, 
and  the  confusion  of  all  outward  decorum  and 
interest,  which  must  result  from  the  negation  of 
the  binding  character  of  the  legal  rite,  except  when 
humanity  makes  judicial  interference  a  duty,  —  all 
this  must  operate  to  render  even  an  uncongenial 
union  a  lesser  social  danger  than  absolute  freedom 
of  the  sexual  will. 

Such  a  freedom  can  only  be  justified  in  the  ulti 
mate  stage  of  moral  progress,  when  to  will  is  to  be 
right ;  when  the  mind  becomes  so  enlightened  and 
the  affections  so  purified  that  their  action  is  divine. 
Then,  and  not  till  then,  can  man  be  intrusted  with 
perfect  freedom. 

Secondly,  marriage  can  be  made  self-corrective  by 
viewing  it  in  its  true  sense,  as  a  school  in  which 
to  train  the  virtues  for  heaven.  If  its  trials  are 
sore,  so  are  its  years  few.  Time  is  a  mere  artificial 
measure  of  events  belonging  only  to  our  embryo 
condition.  We  shall  no  more  recollect  it  in  relation 
to  our  sorrow,  when  our  souls  are  expanded  into 
eternity,  than  does  the  fledged  bird  its  previous 
cramped  position  within  the  egg.  Cannot  we  be 
patient  in  view  of  Paradise  ?  True,  our  sympathies 
pine,  our  hearts  grow  weary,  our  thoughts  rebel, 
our  bones  ache,  and  we  are  well-nigh  altogether 
miserable.  Yet  not  altogether:  for  where  is  the 
household  that  admits  not  of  the  exercise  of  love, 
of  tenderness,  of  hope,  of  faith,  of  patience,  of 
charity,  of  forgiveness,  of  Ion g-suffe ring?  Is  not 
fealty  to  truth  for  its  own  sake  worth  striving  for  ? 


THE   DOCTRINE   AND    LESSON    OF   LIFE.  319 

Christ  says,  "Do  good  to  those  that  hate  yon,  that 
you  may  be  the  children  of  your  Father  which 
is  in  heaven."  Here  we  have  the  PROMISE.  The 
soul  that  perfects  itself  in  these  virtues  is  winning  a 
happier  hereafter  than  if  it  were  merely  to  rival 
Bacon  in  learning,  or  Shakspeare  in  genius.  Be 
comforted,  mourning  ones !  As  you  tread  humbly 
and  firmly  the  path  of  daily  duty,  —  for  sufficient 
unto  the  morrow  is  the  morrow's  duty,  —  so  are  you 
training  your  souls  to  be  welcomed  into  the  joy  of 
your  God. 

Such  is  the  sole  sure  basis  of  Reform.  The 
individual  heart  must  be  purified  and  expanded. 
Love  and  Wisdom  must  therein  unite.  Then  heaven 
begins  on  earth,  and  desolate  hearthstones  rejoice. 
It  matters  comparatively  little  what  may  be  the 
nature  of  external  bonds,  if  the  spirit  sanctify  the 
hardest  lot,  and  patiently  await  its  call  home.  Let 
each  man  and  woman  guard  well  his  or  her  actions 
and  motives,  self-examining  and  self-denying,  acting 
love  to  their  neighbor  and  leaning  oil  God ;  and  so 
shall  all  make  a  more  rapid  progress  towards  happi 
ness  and  freedom  than  if  emperors  leagued  with 
popes,  or  the  people  with  their  presidents,  to  legis 
late  the  widest  reforms  that  ever  were  dreamed 
of.  In  the  degree  that  each  individual  disciplines 
his  heart,  legislation  becomes  obsolete  for  that  one. 
By  him  written  codes  come  to  be  viewed  as  the  ne 
cessity  only  of  a  dark  age.  What  need  has  the 
truly  enlightened  man  for  the  legal  hieroglyphics 
of  an  infant  race  ?  What  need  the  righteous  man 
for  prisons  and  armories  ?  All  men,  in  the  progress 


320  THE   DOCTRINE   AND    LESSON    OF   LIFE. 

of  their  moral  being,  will  finally  grow  to  view  these 
things  curiously,  as  now  all  civilized  men  wonder 
at  judicial  torture,  and  the  pyramids  of  the  Nile. 
Has  not  the  ripened  man  a  perfect  law  within  him 
self,  self-directing,  self-acting  and  self-speaking? 
Who  shall  say  that  the  possibility  of  one  man  may 
not  become  the  experience  of  all  mankind,  when 
reform  takes  perfect  root  Within  ? 


FINIS. 


__  TLLIPS,  SAMPSON,  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS, 

HISTORY. 


HISTORY  OF  THE   REIGN  OF  PfllLIP  II 

By  William  H.  Prescott.     With  Portraits,  Maps,  Plates,  &o, 
Two  volumes,  8vo.     Price,  hi  muslin,  $2  per  volume. 

Tho  reign  of  Philip  the  Second,  embracing  the  last  half  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
is  one  of  the  most  important  as  well  as  interesting  portions  of  modern  history. 
It  is  necessary  to  glance  only  at  some  of  the  principal  events.  The  War  of  the 
Netherlands  —  the  model,  so  to  say,  of  our  own  glorious  War  of  the  Revolution 
—  the  Siege  of  Malta,  and  its  memorable  defence  by  the  Knights  of  St.  John;  the 
brilliant  career  of  Don  John  of  Austria,  the  hero  of  Lepanto  ;  the  Quixotic  adven 
tures  of  Don  Sebastian  of  Portugal  ;  the  conquest  of  that  kingdom  by  the  Duke 
of  Alba  ;  Philip's  union  with  Mary  of  England,  and  hie  wars  with  Elizabeth,  with 
the  story  of  the  Invincible  Armada  ;  the  Inquisition,  with  its  train  of  woes  ;  the 
rebellion  of  the  Moriscos,  and  the  cruel  manner  in  which  it  was  avenged  —  these 
form  some  of  the  prominent  topics  in  the  foreground  of  the  picture,  which  pre 
sents  a  crowd  of  subordinate  details  of  great  interest  in  regard  to  the  character 
and  court  of  PbUip,  and  to  the  institutions  of  Spain,  then  in  the  palmy  days  of 
her  prosperity.  The  materials  for  this  vast  theme  were  to  be  gathered  from  every 
part  of  Europe,  and  the  author  has  for  many  years  been  collecting  them  from  the 
archives  of  different  capitals.  The  archives  of  Simancas,  in  particular,  until  very 
lately  closed  against  even  the  native  historian,  have  been  opened  to  his  researches  ; 
and  his  collection  has  been  further  enriched  by  MSS.  from  some  of  the  principal 
houses  in  Spain,  the  descendants  of  the  great  men  of  the  sixteenth  century.  Such 
a  collection  of  original  documents  has  never  before  been  made  for  the  illustration 
of  this  period. 

The  two  volumes  now  published  bring  down  the  story  to  the  execution  of 
Counts  Egmont  and  Hoorn  in  1568,  and  to  the  imprisonment  and  death  of  Don 
Carlos,  whose  mysterious  fate,  so  long  the  subject  of  speculation,  is  now  first  ex 
plored  by  the  light  of  the  authentic  records  of  Simancas. 

HISTORY  OF  THE  REIGN  OF  FERDINAND  AND  ISABELLA, 
The  Catholic, 

By  W.  H.  Prescott.     With  Portraits.     Three  volumes,  8vo. 
Price,  in  muslin,  $2  per  volume. 

"  Mr.  Prescott's  merit  chiefly  consists  in  the  skilful  arrangement  of  his  materi 
als.  in  the  spirit  of  philosophy  which  animates  the  work,  and  in  a  clear  and  ele 
gant  stylo  that  charms  and  interests  the  reader.  His  book  is  one  of  the  most 
successful  historical  productions  of  our  time.  The  inhabitant  of  another  world, 
be  seems  to  have  shaken  off  th«  prejudices  of  ours.  In  a  word,  he  has,  in  every 
respect,  made  a  most  valuable  addition  to  our  historical  literature."  —  Edinburgh 
Review. 


PHILLIPS,  SAMPSON,  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS 

BISTORT  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  MEXICO, 

With  the  Life  of  the  Conqueror,  Fernando  Cortez,  and  a  Viei* 
of  the  Ancient  Mexican  Civilization.  By  W.  H.  Prescott 
With  Portrait  and  Maps.  Three  volumes,  8vo.  Price,  in  raus- 
lin,  $2  per  volume. 

"The  more  closely  we  examine  Mr.  Prescott's  work  the  more  do  we  find  cause 
to  commend  his  diligent  research.  His  vivacity  of  manner  and  discursive  obser 
vations  scattered  through  notes  as  well  as  text,  furnish  countless  proofs  of  his 
matchless  industry.  In  point  of  style,  too,  he  ranks  with  the  ablest  English  his 
torians  ;  and  paragraphs  may  be  found  in  his  volumes  in  which  the  grace  and 
eloquence  of  Addison  are  combined  with  Robertson's  majestic  cadence  and  Gib 
bon's  brilliancy."  —  Athenceum. 

HISTORY  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  PERU ; 

With  a  Preliminary  View  of  the  Civilization  of  the  Incas.  By 
W.  H.  Prescott.  With  Portraits,  Maps,  &c.  Two  vols.,  8vo. 
Price,  in  muslin,  $2  per  volume. 

"  The  world's  history  contains  no  chapter  more  striking  and  attractive  than 
that  comprising  the  narrative  of  Spanish  conquest  in  the  Americas.  Teeming 
with  interest  to  the  historian  and  philosopher,  to  the  lover  of  daring  enterprise 
and  marvellous  adventure,  it  is  full  of  fascination.  A  clear  head  and  a  sound 
judgment,  great  industry  and  a  skilful  pen,  are  needed  to  do  justice  to  the  sub 
ject.  These  necessary  qualities  have  been  found  united  in  the  person  of  an  ac 
complished  American  author.  Already  favorably  known  by  his  histories  of  the 
eventful  and  chivalrous  reign  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  and  of 'the  exploits  of 
the  Great  Marquis  and  his  iron  followers,  Mr.  Prescott  has  added  to  his  well- 
merited  reputation  by  his  narrative  of  the  Conquest  of  Peru."  —  Blackwood. 

Mr.  Prescott's  works  are  also  bound  in  more  elaborate  styles, 
—  half  calf,  half  turkey,  full  calf,  and  turkey  antique. 


THE  HISTORY  OP  MASSACHUSETTS, 

By  Rev.  John  Stetson  Barry.  To  be  comprised  in  three  v^l- 
umes,  octavo.  Volume  I.  embracing  the  Colonial  Period,  do  >\  u 
to  1692,  now  ready.  Volumes  II.  and  III.  in  active  prepara 
tion.  Price,  in  muslin,  $2  per  volume. 

Extracts  from  a  Letter  from  Mr.  Prescott,  the  Historian. 

BOSTON,  Juno  8, 1856. 
Messrs.  Phillips,  Sampson,  &  Co. 

Gentlemen.  —  The  History  is  based  on  solid  foundations,  as  a  glance  at  the  at. 
fcorities  will  show. 

The  author  has  well  exhibited  the  elements  of  the  Puritan  character,  which  h« 
has  evidently  studied  with  much  care.  His  style  is  perspicuous  and  manly,  fre«i 
from  annotation;  and  he  merits  the  praise  of  a  conscientious  endeavor  to  be  im 
partial. 

The  volume  must  be  found  to  make  a  valuable  addition  to  our  stores  of  colonial 
feistory.  Truly  yours, 

WILLIAM  II.  PRESCOTT. 


PHILLIPS,  SAMPSON,  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


ftome. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND, 

From  the  Invasion  of  Julius  Caesar  to  the  Abdication  of  Jamea 
II.,  1688.     By  David  Hume,  Esq.     A  new  edition,  with  the 
author's  last  corrections  and  improvements ;  to  which  is  pre 
fixed  a  short  account  of  his  life,  written  by  himself.     Six  vol 
umes,  with  Portrait.     Black  muslin,  40  cents  per  volume  ;  in 
red  muslin,  50    cents ;  half  binding,  or  library  style,  50  cents 
per  volume;   half  calf,  extra,  $1.25  per  volume. 
The  merits  of  this  history  are  too  well  known  to  need  comment.    Despite  the 
author's  predilections  in  favor  of  the  House  of  Stuart,  he  is  the  historian  most 
respected,  and  most  generally  read.     Even  the  brilliant  Macaulay,  though  seek« 
Ing  to  establish  an  antagonistic  theory  with  respect  to  the  royal  prerogative,  did 
not  choose  to  enter  the  lists  with  Flume,  but  after  a  few  chapters  by  way  of  cur 
sory  review,  began  his  history  where  his  great  predecessor  had  left  off. 

No  work  in  the  language  can  take  the  place  of  this,  at  least  for  the  present 
century.  And  nowhere  can  it  be  found  accessible  to  the  general  reader  for  any 
thing  like  the  price  at  which  this  handsome  issue  is  furnished. 

These  standard  histories,  Hume,  Gibbon,  Macaulay,  and  Lingard,  are  known  aa 
the  Bo&tim  Library  Edition.  For  uniformity  of  style  and  durability  of  binding, 
quality  of  paper  and  printing,  they  are  the  cheapest  books  ever  offered  to  the 
American  public,  and  the  best  and  most  convenient  editions  published  in  thi* 
country. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND, 

From  the  Accession  of  James  II.  By  Thomas  Babington  Ma 
caulay.  Four  volumes,  12mo.,  with  Portrait.'  Black  muslin,  40 
cents  per  volume ;  red  muslin,  50  cents ;  library  style  and 
half  binding,  50  cents ;  calf,  extra,  $1.25. 

"  The  all-accomplished  Mr.  Macaulay,  the  most  brilliant  and  captivating  of 
English  writers  of  our  own  day,  seems  to  have  been  born  for  the  sole  purpose  of 
making  English  history  aa  fascinating  as  one  of  Scott's  romances."  —  JVortli  Amer 
ican  Review. 

"  The  great  work  of  the  age.  While  every  page  affords  evidence  of  great  re 
search  and  unwearied  labor,  giving  a  most  impressive  view  of  the  period,  it  has 
»11  the  interest  of  an  historical  romance."  —  Baltimore,  J\itru>t. 


?EE  HISTORY  OF  THE   DECLINE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  RO 

MAN  EMPIRE, 

By  Edwurd  Gibbon,  Esq.     With  Notes  by  Rev.  H.  II.  Milman. 
A>  ncv:  Edition.     To  which  is  added  a  complete  Index  of  the 


PHILLIPS,   SAMPSON,   &  CO.'S  PUBLICATION 

whole  work.     Six  volumes,  with  Portrait      12mo.,  muslin,  40 
cents  per  volume;  red  muslin,    50   cents;  half  binding,  or  li 
brary  style,  50    cents  per  volume;  half  calf,  extra,  $1.25. 
"We  commend  it  as  the  best  library  editiou  extant."  —  Boston  Transcript. 
"The  publishers  are  now  doing  an  essential  service  to  the  rising  generation  in 
placing  within  their  reach  a  work  of  such  acknowledged  merit,  and  so  absolute 
ly  indispensable."  —  Baltimore  American. 

"  Such  an  edition  of  this  English  classic  has  long  been  wanted ;  it  is  t*  Nice 
convenient,  economical,  and  elegant."  —  Home  Journal. 


f  inprfc. 

A  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND, 

From  the  first  Invasion  by  the  Romans  to  the  Accession  cf 
William  and  Mary  in  1688.  By  John  Lingard,  D.  D.  From 
the  last  revised  London  edition.  In  thirteen  volumes ;  illus 
trated  title  pages,  and  portrait  of  the  author.  12mo.,  muslin. 
Price,  75  cents  per  volume. 

"  This  history  has  taken  its  place  among  the  classics  of  the  English  language." 
—  LowfJl  Courier. 

"  It  is  infinitely  superior  to  Hume,  and  there  is  no  comparison  between  it  and 
Macaulay's  romance.  Whoever  has  not  access  to  the  original  monuments  will 
find  Dr.  Liugard's  work  the  best  one  he  can  consult."  —  Brownsori's  Review. 

"  Lingard's  history  has  been  long  known  as  the  best  history  of  England  ever 
written ;  but  hitherto  the  price  has  been  such  as  deprived  all  but  the  most 
wealthy  readers  of  any  chance  of  possessing  it.  Now,  however,  its  publication 
has  been  commenced  in  a  beautiful  style,  and  at  such  a  price  that  no  student  of 
history  need  fail  of  its  acquisition."  —  Albany  Transcript. 


HISTORY  OF  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION  OF  1848, 

By  Alphonse  de  Lamartine.     Translated  by  F.  A.  Durivage 
and  William  S.  Chase.     In  one  volume,  octavo,  with  illustra 
tions.     Price,  in  muslin,  $2.25. 
Same  work,  in  a  12mo.  edition,  muslin,  75  cents ;  sheep,  90  cents. 

A  most  graphic  history  of  great  events,  by  one  of  the  principal  actors  therein, 
"The  day  will  come  when  Lamartine,  standing  by  the  gate-post  of  the  Hotel  d« 
Villo,  and  subduing  by  his  eloquence  the  furious  passions  of  the  thousands  upon 
thousands  of  delirious  revolutionists,  who  sought  they  knew  not  what  at  tne 
hands  of  the  self-constituted  Provisional  Government  of  1848,  will  be  commemo 
rated  in  stoue,  on  canvas,  and  in  song,  as  the  very  impersonation  of  moral  sub 
limity." —  Meth,  Quarterly  Review. 

"  No  fitting  mete-wand  hath  To-day 
For  measuring  spirits  of  thy  stature,  — 
Only  the  Future  can  reach  up  to  lay 
The  laurel  on  that  lofty  nature.  — 
Bard,  who  with  some  diviner  art 
Hast  touched  the  bard's  true  lyre,  a  nation's  heart." 

James  ffussdl  Lowell,  "  To  Lamartim.» 


5    .-•  c 


25  *3  2 


